Анна Кареніна

Chapter 7

           

           ThefatoldTatar,MadameKarenina’scoachman,waswithdifficultyholdingoneofherpairofgrays,chilledwiththecoldandrearingattheentrance.Afootmanstoodopeningthecarriagedoor.Thehall-porterstoodholdingopenthegreatdoorofthehouse.AnnaArkadyevna,withherquicklittlehand,wasunfasteningthelaceofhersleeve,caughtinthehookofherfurcloak,andwithbentheadlisteningtothewordsVronskymurmuredasheescortedherdown.

           “You’vesaidnothing,ofcourse,andIasknothing,”hewassaying;“butyouknowthatfriendship’snotwhatIwant:thatthere’sonlyonehappinessinlifeforme,thatwordthatyoudislikeso...yes,love!...”

           “Love,”sherepeatedslowly,inaninnervoice,andsuddenly,attheveryinstantsheunhookedthelace,sheadded,“WhyIdon’tlikethewordisthatitmeanstoomuchtome,farmorethanyoucanunderstand,”andsheglancedintohisface.“Aurevoir!”

           Shegavehimherhand,andwithherrapid,springystepshepassedbytheporterandvanishedintothecarriage.

           Herglance,thetouchofherhand,sethimaflame.Hekissedthepalmofhishandwhereshehadtouchedit,andwenthome,happyinthesensethathehadgotnearertotheattainmentofhisaimsthateveningthanduringthelasttwomonths.

           

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