Page 103 (1/2)

The hero of the novel was already allish

happiness, a baronetcy and an estate, and Anna was feeling a

desire to go with hiht to feel asha But what had he to be ashamed of? "What have I to be

ashamed of?" she asked herself in injured surprise She laid

down the book and sank against the back of the chair, tightly

gripping the paper cutter in both hands There was nothing She

went over all her Moscow recollections All were good, pleasant

She remembered the ball, remembered Vronsky and his face of

slavish adoration, re shameful And for all that, at the sa of shah soht of Vronsky, were

saying to her, "Warm, very warm, hot" "Well, what is it?" she

said to herself resolutely, shifting her seat in the lounge

"What does it ht in the face?

Why, what is it? Can it be that between me and this officer boy

there exist, or can exist, any other relations than such as are

cohed conteain; but now she was definitely unable to

follohat she read She passed the paper knife over the

pane, then laid its shed aloud at the feeling of delight that all at once without

cause cas

being strained tighter and tighter on so wider and wider, her fingers and toes

twitching nervously, so,