Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace
the country," said Kitty, blushing.
"Remember me to him, be sure you do."
"Ill be sure to!" Kitty said naively, looking compassionately
into her eyes.
"So good-bye, Dolly." And kissing Dolly and shaking hands with
Kitty, Anna went out hurriedly.
"Shes just the same and just as charming! Shes very lovely!"
said Kitty, when she was alone with her sister. "But theres
something piteous about her. Awfully piteous!"
"Yes, theres something unusual about her today," said Dolly.
"When I went with her into the hall, I fancied she was almost
Anna got into the carriage again in an even worse frame of mind
than when she set out from home. To her previous tortures was
added now that sense of mortification and of being an outcast
which she had felt so distinctly on meeting Kitty.
"Where to? Home?" asked Pyotr.
"Yes, home," she said, not even thinking now where she was going.
"How they looked at me as something dreadful, incomprehensible,
and curious! What can he be telling the other with such warmth?"
she thought, staring at two men who walked by. "Can one ever
tell anyone what one is feeling? I meant to tell Dolly, and its
a good thing I didnt tell her. How pleased she would have been
at my misery! She would have concealed it, but her chief feeling
would have been delight at my being punished for the happiness
she envied me for. Kitty, she would have been even more pleased.
How I can see through her! She knows I was more than usually
sweet to her husband. And shes jealous and hates me. And she
despises me. In her eyes Im an immoral woman. If I were an
immoral woman I could have made her husband fall in love with me
...if Id cared to. And, indeed, I did care to. Theres someone
whos pleased with himself," she thought, as she saw a fat,
rubicund gentleman coming towards her. He took her for an
acquaintance, and lifted his glossy hat above his bald, glossy
head, and then perceived his mistake. "He thought he knew me.
Well, he knows me as well as anyone in the world knows me. I
dont know myself. I know my appetites, as the French say. They
want that dirty ice cream, that they do know for certain," she
thought, looking at two boys stopping an ice cream seller, who
took a barrel off his head and began wiping his perspiring face
with a towel. "We all want what is sweet and nice. If not
sweetmeats, then a dirty ice. And Kittys the same--if not
Vronsky, then Levin. And she envies me, and hates me. And we
all hate each other. I Kitty, Kitty me. Yes, thats the truth.
_Tiutkin, coiffeur. Je me fais coiffer par Tiutkin...._ Ill
tell him that when he comes," she thought and smiled. But the
same instant she remembered that she had no one now to tell
anything amusing to. "And theres nothing amusing, nothing
mirthful, really. Its all hateful. Theyre singing for
vespers, and how carefully that merchant crosses himself! as if
he were afraid of missing something. Why these churches and this
singing and this humbug? Simply to conceal that we all hate each
other like these cab drivers who are abusing each other so
angrily. Yashvin says, He wants to strip me of my shirt, and I
him of his. Yes, thats the truth!"
She was plunged in these thoughts, which so engrossed her that
she left off thinking of her own position, when the carriage drew
up at the steps of her house. It was only when she saw the
porter running out to meet her that she remembered she had sent
the note and the telegram.
"Is there an answer?" she inquired.
"Ill see this minute," answered the porter, and glancing into
his room, he took out and gave her the thin square envelope of a
telegram. "I cant come before ten oclock.--Vronsky," she
"And hasnt the messenger come back?"
"No," answered the porter.
"Then, since its so, I know what I must do," she said, and
feeling a vague fury and craving for revenge rising up within
her, she ran upstairs. "Ill go to him myself. Before going
away forever, Ill tell him all. Never have I hated anyone as I
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