Анна Кареніна

Chapter 1

           Heturnedoverhisstout,well-cared-forpersononthespringysofa,asthoughhewouldsinkintoalongsleepagain;hevigorouslyembracedthepillowontheothersideandburiedhisfaceinit;butallatoncehejumpedup,satuponthesofa,andopenedhiseyes.

           “Yes,yes,howwasitnow?”hethought,goingoverhisdream.“Now,howwasit?Tobesure!AlabinwasgivingadinneratDarmstadt;no,notDarmstadt,butsomethingAmerican.Yes,butthen,DarmstadtwasinAmerica.Yes,Alabinwasgivingadinneronglasstables,andthetablessang,IlmiotesoronotIlmiotesorothough,butsomethingbetter,andthereweresomesortoflittledecantersonthetable,andtheywerewomen,too,”heremembered.

           StepanArkadyevitch’seyestwinkledgaily,andheponderedwithasmile.“Yes,itwasnice,verynice.Therewasagreatdealmorethatwasdelightful,onlythere’snoputtingitintowords,orevenexpressingitinone’sthoughtsawake.”Andnoticingagleamoflightpeepinginbesideoneofthesergecurtains,hecheerfullydroppedhisfeetovertheedgeofthesofa,andfeltaboutwiththemforhisslippers,apresentonhislastbirthday,workedforhimbyhiswifeongold-coloredmorocco.And,ashehaddoneeverydayforthelastnineyears,hestretchedouthishand,withoutgettingup,towardstheplacewherehisdressing-gownalwayshunginhisbedroom.Andthereuponhesuddenlyrememberedthathewasnotsleepinginhiswife’sroom,butinhisstudy,andwhy:thesmilevanishedfromhisface,heknittedhisbrows.

           “Ah,ah,ah!Oo!...

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