"I don't blame..."

"Yes, you do blame me! My God! why didn't I die!" And she broke

into sobs. "Forgive me, I'm nervous, I'm unjust," she said,

controlling herself, "but do go away..."

"No, it can't go on like this," Alexey Alexandrovitch said to

himself decidedly as he left his wife's room.

Never had the impossibility of his position in the world's eyes,

and his wife's hatred of him, and altogether the might of that

mysterious brutal force that guided his life against his

spiritual inclinations, and exacted conformity with its decrees

and change in his attitude to his wife, been presented to him

with such distinctness as that day. He saw clearly that all the

world and his wife expected of him something, but what exactly,

he could not make out. He felt that this was rousing in his soul

a feeling of anger destructive of his peace of mind and of all

the good of his achievement. He believed that for Anna herself

it would be better to break off all relations with Vronsky; but

if they all thought this out of the question, he was even ready

to allow these relations to be renewed, so long as the children

were not disgraced, and he was not deprived of them nor forced to

change his position. Bad as this might be, it was anyway better

than a rupture, which would put her in a hopeless and shameful

position, and deprive him of everything he cared for. But he

felt helpless; he knew beforehand that every one was against him,

and that he would not be allowed to do what seemed to him now so

natural and right, but would be forced to do what was wrong,

though it seemed the proper thing to them.




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