In my warmth--and, I must confess, in my weariness of being his confidant--I perhaps blamed him too much.

I was so cruel as to try and force him to confess it all to me himself, though I did recognise that it might be difficult to confess some things.

He, too, saw through me; that is, he clearly perceived that I saw through him, and that I was angry with him indeed, and he was angry with me too for being angry with him and seeing through him.

My irritation was perhaps petty and stupid; but the unrelieved solitude of two friends together is sometimes extremely prejudicial to true friendship.

From a certain point of view he had a very true understanding of some aspects of his position, and defined it, indeed, very subtly on those points about which he did not think it necessary to be secret.
"Oh, how different she was then!" he would sometimes say to me about Varvara Petrovna.