"But I repeat, it's an accomplished fact. Then you had, let us

say, the misfortune to love a man not your husband. That was a

misfortune; but that, too, is an accomplished fact. And your

husband knew it and forgave it." He stopped at each sentence,

waiting for her to object, but she made no answer. "That's so.

Now the question is: can you go on living with your husband? Do

you wish it? Does he wish it?"

"I know nothing, nothing."

"But you said yourself that you can't endure him."

"No, I didn't say so. I deny it. I can't tell, I don't know

anything about it."

"Yes, but let..."

"You can't understand. I feel I'm lying head downwards in a sort

of pit, but I ought not to save myself. And I can't . . ."

"Never mind, we'll slip something under and pull you out. I

understand you: I understand that you can't take it on yourself

to express your wishes, your feelings."

"There's nothing, nothing I wish...except for it to be all

over."

"But he sees this and knows it. And do you suppose it weighs on

him any less than on you? You're wretched, he's wretched, and

what good can come of it? while divorce would solve the

difficulty completely." With some effort Stepan Arkadyevitch

brought out his central idea, and looked significantly at her.

She said nothing, and shook her cropped head in dissent. But

from the look in her face, that suddenly brightened into its old

beauty, he saw that if she did not desire this, it was simply

because it seemed to her unattainable happiness.

"I'm awfully sorry for you! And how happy I should be if I could

arrange things!" said Stepan Arkadyevitch, smiling more boldly.

"Don't speak, don't say a word! God grant only that I may speak

as I feel. I'm going to him."

Anna looked at him with dreamy, shining eyes, and said nothing.




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