Анна Кареніна

Chapter 22

           Everythinghesawfromthecarriagewindow,everythinginthatcoldpureair,inthepalelightofthesunset,wasasfresh,andgay,andstrongashewashimself:theroofsofthehousesshiningintheraysofthesettingsun,thesharpoutlinesoffencesandanglesofbuildings,thefiguresofpassers-by,thecarriagesthatmethimnowandthen,themotionlessgreenofthetreesandgrass,thefieldswithevenlydrawnfurrowsofpotatoes,andtheslantingshadowsthatfellfromthehouses,andtrees,andbushes,andevenfromtherowsofpotatoeseverythingwasbrightlikeaprettylandscapejustfinishedandfreshlyvarnished.

           “Geton,geton!”hesaidtothedriver,puttinghisheadoutofthewindow,andpullingathree-roublenoteoutofhispockethehandedittothemanashelookedround.Thedriver’shandfumbledwithsomethingatthelamp,thewhipcracked,andthecarriagerolledrapidlyalongthesmoothhighroad.

           “Iwantnothing,nothingbutthishappiness,”hethought,staringatthebonebuttonofthebellinthespacebetweenthewindows,andpicturingtohimselfAnnajustashehadseenherlasttime.“AndasIgoon,Ilovehermoreandmore.Here’sthegardenoftheVredeVilla.Whereaboutswillshebe?Where?How?Whydidshefixonthisplacetomeetme,andwhydoesshewriteinBetsy’sletter?”hethought,wonderingnowforthefirsttimeatit.Buttherewasnownotimeforwonder.Hecalledtothedrivertostopbeforereachingtheavenue,andopeningthedoor,jumpedoutofthecarriageasitwasmoving,andwentintotheavenuethatleduptothehouse.

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