Анна Каренина

Chapter 12

           Noansweragain!AndStivasayshecannotgotoAlexeyAlexandrovitch.AndIcan’twriteagain.Icandonothing,canbeginnothing,canalternothing;Iholdmyselfin,Iwait,inventingamusementsformyself—theEnglishfamily,writing,reading—butit’sallnothingbutasham,it’sallthesameasmorphine.Heoughttofeelforme,”shesaid,feelingtearsofself-pitycomingintohereyes.

           SheheardVronsky’sabruptringandhurriedlydriedhertears—notonlydriedhertears,butsatdownbyalampandopenedabook,affectingcomposure.Shewantedtoshowhimthatshewasdispleasedthathehadnotcomehomeashehadpromised—displeasedonly,andnotonanyaccounttolethimseeherdistress,andleastofall,herself-pity.Shemightpityherself,buthemustnotpityher.Shedidnotwantstrife,sheblamedhimforwantingtoquarrel,butunconsciouslyputherselfintoanattitudeofantagonism.

           “Well,you’venotbeendull?”hesaid,eagerlyandgood-humoredly,goinguptoher.“Whataterriblepassionitis—gambling!”

           “No,I’venotbeendull;I’velearnedlongagonottobedull.StivahasbeenhereandLevin.”

           “Yes,theymeanttocomeandseeyou.Well,howdidyoulikeLevin?”hesaid,sittingdownbesideher.

           “Verymuch.Theyhavenotlongbeengone.WhatwasYashvindoing?”

           “Hewaswinning—seventeenthousand.Igothimaway.Hehadreallystartedhome,buthewentbackagain,andnowhe’slosing.”

           “Thenwhatdidyoustayfor?”sheasked,suddenlyliftinghereyestohim.Theexpressionofherfacewascoldandungracious.

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