Women who pass in the street

Dearest Varvara,
I am losing my humanity. Yesterday I saw an old woman sprawled in the snow. Thinking perhaps she was dead, I laughed. Then I thought maybe she was drunk, and I hated her. As I walked past, I shuffled some snow in her face, to see if the cold would awaken her, but she didn't move. A woman passing by saw me and began remonstrating. You see, Varvara, the woman was so cruel that she preferred to remonstrate with me than help the old woman. They have done it to me, these women who pass in the street. I returned later, to see if I still felt like laughing or hating or maybe even helping, but the old woman was gone. Just a filthy rag in the snow, and I was so disappointed that I wandered the backstreets looking for people to remonstrate with, but there were none to be found. In the end, I came across a haggard dog with cunning eyes, and ran at it, waving my arms and shouting, but it just sat and winked at me, and I felt so sorrowful that I sank to my knees and held it's stinking head against my own until it pulled out of my grasp and looked into my eyes and said: 'you are neither human nor dog' and vanished into the darkness and, Varvara, since then I cannot remember my name. What is it again? Do write soon and tell me, Varvara: it pains me greatly that I cannot sign this letter, even though I remain,
Your most loving and devoted son,