Emma Watson Pussy
Books:
Anna Karenina
War And Peace
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important persons in this matter are
our son and yourself. It may very well be, I repeat, that my
words seem to you utterly unnecessary and out of place; it may be
that they are called forth by my mistaken impression. In that
case, I beg you to forgive me. But if you are conscious
yourself of even the smallest foundation for them, then I beg you
to think a little, and if your heart prompts you, to speak out to
me..."
Alexey Alexandrovitch was unconsciously saying something utterly
unlike what he had prepared.
"I have nothing to say. And besides," she said hurriedly, with
difficulty repressing a smile, "its really time to be in bed."
Alexey Alexandrovitch sighed, and, without saying more, went into
the bedroom.
When she came into the bedroom, he was already in bed. His lips
were sternly compressed, and his eyes looked away from her. Anna
got into her bed, and lay expecting every minute that he would
begin to speak to her again. She both feared his speaking and
wished for it. But he was silent. She waited for a long while
without moving, and had forgotten about him. She thought of that
other; she pictured him, and felt how her heart was flooded with
emotion and guilty delight at the thought of him. Suddenly she
heard an even, tranquil snore. For the first instant Alexey
Alexandrovitch seemed, as it were, appalled at his own snoring,
and ceased; but after an interval of two breathings the snore
sounded again, with a new tranquil rhythm.
"Its late, its late," she whispered with a smile. A long while
she lay, not moving, with open eyes, whose brilliance she almost
fancied she could herself see in the darkness.
Chapter 10
From that time a new life began for Alexey Alexandrovitch and for
his wife. Nothing special happened. Anna went out into society,
as she had always done, was particularly often at Princess
Betsys, and met Vronsky everywhere. Alexey Alexandrovitch saw
this, but could do nothing. All his efforts to draw her into
open discussion she confronted with a barrier which he could not
penetrate, made up of a sort of amused perplexity. Outwardly
everything was the same, but their inner relations were
completely changed. Alexey Alexandrovitch, a man of great power
in the world of politics, felt himself helpless in this. Like an
ox with head bent, submissively he awaited the blow which he felt
was lifted over him. Every time he began to think about it, he
felt that he must try once more, that by kindness, tenderness,
and persuasion there was still hope of saving her, of bringing
her back to herself, and every day he made ready to talk to her.
But every time he began talking to her, he felt that the spirit
of evil and deceit, which had taken possession of her, had
possession of him too, and he talked to her in a tone quite
unlike that in which he had meant to talk. Involuntarily he
talked to her in his habitual tone of jeering at anyone who
should say what he was saying. And in that tone it was
impossible to say what needed to be said to her.
Chapter 11
That which for Vronsky had been almost a whole year the one
absorbing desire of his life, replacing all his old desires; that
which for Anna had been an impossible, terrible, and even for
that reason more entrancing dream of bliss, that desire had been
fulfilled. He stood before her, pale, his lower jaw quivering,
and besought her to be calm, not knowing how or why.
"Anna! Anna!" he said with a choking voice, "Anna, for pitys
sake!..."
But the louder he spoke, the lower she dropped her once proud and
gay, now shame-stricken head, and she bowed down and sank from
the sofa where she was sitting, down on the floor, at his feet;
she would have fallen on the carpet if he had not held her.
"My God! Forgive me!" she said, sobbing, pressing his hands to
her bosom.
She felt so sinful, so guilty, that nothing was left her but to
humiliate herself and beg forgiveness; and as now there was no
one in her life but him, to him she addressed her prayer for
forgiveness. Looking at him, she had a physical sense of her
humiliation, and she could say nothing more. He felt what a
murderer must feel, when he
Anna Karenina page 83 Anna Karenina page 85
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