Война и мир

Chapter 18

           AlltheMoscownotabilities,alltheRostóvs’acquaintances,wereattheRazumóvskis’chapel,for,asifexpectingsomethingtohappen,manywealthyfamilieswhousuallylefttownfortheircountryestateshadnotgoneawaythatsummer.AsNatásha,athermother’sside,passedthroughthecrowdbehindaliveriedfootmanwhoclearedthewayforthem,sheheardayoungmanspeakingaboutherintooloudawhisper.

           “That’sRostóva,theonewho...”

           “She’smuchthinner,butallthesameshe’spretty!”

           Sheheard,orthoughtsheheard,thenamesofKuráginandBolkónski.Butshewasalwaysimaginingthat.Italwaysseemedtoherthateveryonewholookedatherwasthinkingonlyofwhathadhappenedtoher.Withasinkingheart,wretchedasshealwayswasnowwhenshefoundherselfinacrowd,Natáshainherlilacsilkdresstrimmedwithblacklacewalked—aswomencanwalk—withthemorereposeandstatelinessthegreaterthepainandshameinhersoul.Sheknewforcertainthatshewaspretty,butthisnolongergavehersatisfactionasitusedto.Onthecontraryittormentedhermorethananythingelseoflate,andparticularlysoonthisbright,hotsummerdayintown.“It’sSundayagain—anotherweekpast,”shethought,recallingthatshehadbeenheretheSundaybefore,“andalwaysthesamelifethatisnolife,andthesamesurroundingsinwhichitusedtobesoeasytolive.I’mpretty,I’myoung,andIknowthatnowIamgood.Iusedtobebad,butnowIknowIamgood,”shethought,“butyetmybestyearsareslippingbyandarenogoodtoanyone.

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