Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace
house. But no matter; I cant hide
myself," he thought, and with that manner peculiar to him from
childhood, as of a man who has nothing to be ashamed of, Vronsky
got out of his sledge and went to the door. The door opened, and
the hall porter with a rug on his arm called the carriage.
Vronsky, though he did not usually notice details, noticed at
this moment the amazed expression with which the porter glanced
at him. In the very doorway Vronsky almost ran up against Alexey
Alexandrovitch. The gas jet threw its full light on the
bloodless, sunken face under the black hat and on the white
cravat, brilliant against the beaver of the coat. Karenins
fixed, dull eyes were fastened upon Vronskys face. Vronsky
bowed, and Alexey Alexandrovitch, chewing his lips, lifted his
hand to his hat and went on. Vronsky saw him without looking
round get into the carriage, pick up the rug and the opera-glass
at the window and disappear. Vronsky went into the hall. His
brows were scowling, and his eyes gleamed with a proud and angry
light in them.
"What a position!" he thought. "If he would fight, would stand
up for his honor, I could act, could express my feelings; but
this weakness or baseness.... He puts me in the position of
playing false, which I never meant and never mean to do."
Vronskys ideas had changed since the day of his conversation
with Anna in the Vrede garden. Unconsciously yielding to the
weakness of Anna--who had surrendered herself up to him utterly,
and simply looked to him to decide her fate, ready to submit to
anything--he had long ceased to think that their tie might end
as he had thought then. His ambitious plans had retreated into
the background again, and feeling that he had got out of that
circle of activity in which everything was definite, he had given
himself entirely to his passion, and that passion was binding him
more and more closely to her.
He was still in the hall when he caught the sound of her
retreating footsteps. He knew she had been expecting him, had
listened for him, and was now going back to the drawing room.
"No," she cried, on seeing him, and at the first sound of her
voice the tears came into her eyes. "No; if things are to go on
like this, the end will come much, much too soon."
"What is it, dear one?"
"What? Ive been waiting in agony for an hour, two hours...No,
I wont...I cant quarrel with you. Of course you couldnt
come. No, I wont." She laid her two hands on his shoulders,
and looked a long while at him with a profound, passionate, and
at the same time searching look. She was studying his face to
make up for the time she had not seen him. She was, every time
she saw him, making the picture of him in her imagination
(incomparably superior, impossible in reality) fit with him as he
"You met him?" she asked, when they had sat down at the table in
the lamplight. "Youre punished, you see, for being late."
"Yes; but how was it? Wasnt he to be at the council?"
"He had been and come back, and was going out somewhere again.
But thats no matter. Dont talk about it. Where have you been?
With the prince still?"
She knew every detail of his existence. He was going to say that
he had been up all night and had dropped asleep, but looking at
her thrilled and rapturous face, he was ashamed. And he said he
had had to go to report on the princes departure.
"But its over now? He is gone?"
"Thank God its over! You wouldnt believe how insufferable its
been for me."
"Why so? Isnt it the life all of you, all young men, always
lead?" she said, knitting her brows; and taking up the crochet
work that was lying on the table, she began drawing the hook out
of it, without looking at Vronsky.
"I gave that life up long ago," said he, wondering at the change
in her face, and trying to divine its meaning. "And I confess,"
he said, with a smile, showing his thick, white teeth, "this week
Ive been, as it were, looking at myself in a glass, seeing that
life, and I didnt like
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