Chapter 11

           

           ThatwhichforVronskyhadbeenalmostawholeyeartheoneabsorbingdesireofhislife,replacingallhisolddesires;thatwhichforAnnahadbeenanimpossible,terrible,andevenforthatreasonmoreentrancingdreamofbliss,thatdesirehadbeenfulfilled.Hestoodbeforeher,pale,hislowerjawquivering,andbesoughthertobecalm,notknowinghoworwhy.

           “Anna!Anna!”hesaidwithachokingvoice,“Anna,forpity’ssake!...”

           Butthelouderhespoke,thelowershedroppedheronceproudandgay,nowshame-strickenhead,andsheboweddownandsankfromthesofawhereshewassitting,downonthefloor,athisfeet;shewouldhavefallenonthecarpetifhehadnotheldher.

           “MyGod!Forgiveme!”shesaid,sobbing,pressinghishandstoherbosom.

           Shefeltsosinful,soguilty,thatnothingwasleftherbuttohumiliateherselfandbegforgiveness;andasnowtherewasnooneinherlifebuthim,tohimsheaddressedherprayerforforgiveness.Lookingathim,shehadaphysicalsenseofherhumiliation,andshecouldsaynothingmore.Hefeltwhatamurderermustfeel,whenheseesthebodyhehasrobbedoflife.Thatbody,robbedbyhimoflife,wastheirlove,thefirststageoftheirlove.Therewassomethingawfulandrevoltinginthememoryofwhathadbeenboughtatthisfearfulpriceofshame.Shameattheirspiritualnakednesscrushedherandinfectedhim.Butinspiteofallthemurderer’shorrorbeforethebodyofhisvictim,hemusthackittopieces,hidethebody,mustusewhathehasgainedbyhismurder.

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