Emma Watson Pussy
Anna Karenina 108

Banned Celebs

Emma Watson Pussy


Anna Karenina

War And Peace

tried to bring her to consider their position, and every time he had been confronted by the same superficiality and triviality with which she met his appeal now. It was as though there were something in this which she could not or would not face, as though directly she began to speak of this, she, the real Anna, retreated somehow into herself, and another strange and unaccountable woman came out, whom he did not love, and whom he feared, and who was in opposition to him. But today he was resolved to have it out. "Whether he knows or not," said Vronsky, in his usual quiet and resolute tone, "thats nothing to do with us. We cannot...you cannot stay like this, especially now." "Whats to be done, according to you?" she asked with the same frivolous irony. She who had so feared he would take her condition too lightly was now vexed with him for deducing from it the necessity of taking some step. "Tell him everything, and leave him." "Very well, let us suppose I do that," she said. "Do you know what the result of that would be? I can tell you it all beforehand," and a wicked light gleamed in her eyes, that had been so soft a minute before. "Eh, you love another man, and have entered into criminal intrigues with him?" (Mimicking her husband, she threw an emphasis on the word "criminal," as Alexey Alexandrovitch did.) "I warned you of the results in the religious, the civil, and the domestic relation. You have not listened to me. Now I cannot let you disgrace my name,--" "and my son," she had meant to say, but about her son she could not jest,--"disgrace my name, and--and more in the same style," she added. "In general terms, hell say in his official manner, and with all distinctness and precision, that he cannot let me go, but will take all measures in his power to prevent scandal. And he will calmly and punctually act in accordance with his words. Thats what will happen. Hes not a man, but a machine, and a spiteful machine when hes angry," she added, recalling Alexey Alexandrovitch as she spoke, with all the peculiarities of his figure and manner of speaking, and reckoning against him every defect she could find in him, softening nothing for the great wrong she herself was doing him. "But, Anna," said Vronsky, in a soft and persuasive voice, trying to soothe her, "we absolutely must, anyway, tell him, and then be guided by the line he takes." "What, run away?" "And why not run away? I dont see how we can keep on like this. And not for my sake--I see that you suffer." "Yes, run away, and become your mistress," she said angrily. "Anna," he said, with reproachful tenderness. "Yes," she went on, "become your mistress, and complete the ruin of..." Again she would have said "my son," but she could not utter that word. Vronsky could not understand how she, with her strong and truthful nature, could endure this state of deceit, and not long to get out of it. But he did not suspect that the chief cause of it was the word--_son_, which she could not bring herself to pronounce. When she thought of her son, and his future attitude to his mother, who had abandoned his father, she felt such terror at what she had done, that she could not face it; but, like a woman, could only try to comfort herself with lying assurances that everything would remain as it always had been, and that it was possible to forget the fearful question of how it would be with her son. "I beg you, I entreat you," she said suddenly, taking his hand, and speaking in quite a different tone, sincere and tender, "never speak to me of that!" "But, Anna..." "Never. Leave it to me. I know all the baseness, all the horror of my position; but its not so easy to arrange as you think. And leave it to me, and do what I say. Never speak to me of it. Do you promise me?...No, no, promise!..." "I promise everything, but I cant be at peace, especially after what you have told me. I cant be at peace, when you cant be at peace...." "I?" she repeated. "Yes, I am worried sometimes; but that will pass, if you will never talk about this. When you talk about it--its only then it worries

Anna Karenina page 107        Anna Karenina page 109