Emma Watson Pussy
Books:
Anna Karenina
War And Peace
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and vividly before her mind as the sole
means of bringing back love for her in his heart, of punishing
him and of gaining the victory in that strife which the evil
spirit in possession of her heart was waging with him.
Now nothing mattered: going or not going to Vozdvizhenskoe,
getting or not getting a divorce from her husband--all that did
not matter. The one thing that mattered was punishing him. When
she poured herself out her usual dose of opium, and thought that
she had only to drink off the whole bottle to die, it seemed to
her so simple and easy, that she began musing with enjoyment on
how he would suffer, and repent and love her memory when it would
be too late. She lay in bed with open eyes, by the light of a
single burned-down candle, gazing at the carved cornice of the
ceiling and at the shadow of the screen that covered part of it,
while she vividly pictured to herself how he would feel when she
would be no more, when she would be only a memory to him. "How
could I say such cruel things to her?" he would say. "How could
I go out of the room without saying anything to her? But now she
is no more. She has gone away from us forever. She is...."
Suddenly the shadow of the screen wavered, pounced on the whole
cornice, the whole ceiling; other shadows from the other side
swooped to meet it, for an instant the shadows flitted back, but
then with fresh swiftness they darted forward, wavered,
commingled, and all was darkness. "Death!" she thought. And
such horror came upon her that for a long while she could not
realize where she was, and for a long while her trembling hands
could not find the matches and light another candle, instead of
the one that had burned down and gone out. "No, anything--only
to live! Why, I love him! Why, he loves me! This has been
before and will pass," she said, feeling that tears of joy at the
return to life were trickling down her cheeks. And to escape
from her panic she went hurriedly to his room.
He was asleep there, and sleeping soundly. She went up to him,
and holding the light above his face, she gazed a long while at
him. Now when he was asleep, she loved him so that at the sight
of him she could not keep back tears of tenderness. But she knew
that if he waked up he would look at her with cold eyes,
convinced that he was right, and that before telling him of her
love, she would have to prove to him that he had been wrong in
his treatment of her. Without waking him, she went back, and
after a second dose of opium she fell towards morning into a
heavy, incomplete sleep, during which she never quite lost
consciousness.
In the morning she was waked by a horrible nightmare, which had
recurred several times in her dreams, even before her connection
with Vronsky. A little old man with unkempt beard was doing
something bent down over some iron, muttering meaningless French
words, and she, as she always did in this nightmare (it was what
made the horror of it), felt that this peasant was taking no
notice of her, but was doing something horrible with the iron--
over her. And she waked up in a cold sweat.
When she got up, the previous day came back to her as though
veiled in mist.
"There was a quarrel. Just what has happened several times. I
said I had a headache, and he did not come in to see me.
Tomorrow were going away; I must see him and get ready for the
journey," she said to herself. And learning that he was in his
study, she went down to him. As she passed through the
drawing room she heard a carriage stop at the entrance, and
looking out of the window she saw the carriage, from which a
young girl in a lilac hat was leaning out giving some direction
to the footman ringing the bell. After a parley in the hall,
someone came upstairs, and Vronskys steps could be heard passing
the drawing room. He went rapidly downstairs. Anna went again
to the window. She saw him come out onto
Anna Karenina page 428 Anna Karenina page 430
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