"Oh, I don't regard her as fallen more than hundreds of women you

do receive!" Vronsky interrupted her still more gloomily, and he

got up in silence, understanding that his sister-in-law's

decision was not to be shaken.

"Alexey! don't be angry with me. Please understand that I'm not

to blame," began Varya, looking at him with a timid smile.

"I'm not angry with you," he said still as gloomily; "but I'm

sorry in two ways. I'm sorry, too, that this means breaking up

our friendship--if not breaking up, at least weakening it. You

will understand that for me, too, it cannot be otherwise."

And with that he left her.

Vronsky knew that further efforts were useless, and that he had

to spend these few days in Petersburg as though in a strange

town, avoiding every sort of relation with his own old circle in

order not to be exposed to the annoyances and humiliations which

were so intolerable to him. One of the most unpleasant features

of his position in Petersburg was that Alexey Alexandrovitch and

his name seemed to meet him everywhere. He could not begin to

talk of anything without the conversation turning on Alexey

Alexandrovitch; he could not go anywhere without risk of meeting

him. So at least it seemed to Vronsky, just as it seems to a man

with a sore finger that he is continually, as though on purpose,

grazing his sore finger on everything.

Their stay in Petersburg was the more painful to Vronsky that he

perceived all the time a sort of new mood that he could not

understand in Anna. At one time she would seem in love with him,

and then she would become cold, irritable, and impenetrable. She

was worrying over something, and keeping something back from him,

and did not seem to notice the humiliations which poisoned his

existence, and for her, with her delicate intuition, must have

been still more unbearable.




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