Anna Karenina - LimpidSoft

PART FIVE CHAPTER 15
with her the day before they left Moscow. “He’s jealous,” she thought. “Goodness!
how sweet and silly he is! He’s jealous of me! If he knew that I think no more of
them than of Piotr the cook,” she thought, looking at his head and red neck with
a feeling of possession strange to herself. “Though it’s a pity to take him from his
work (but he has plenty of time!), I must look at his face; will he feel I’m looking at
him? I wish he’d turn round...I’ll will him to!” and she opened her eyes wide, as
though to intensify the influence of her gaze.
“Yes, they draw away all the sap and give a false appearance of prosperity,” he
muttered, stopping to write, and, feeling that she was looking at him and smiling,
he looked round.
“Well?” he queried, smiling, and getting up.
“He looked round,” she thought.
“It’s nothing; I wanted you to look round,” she said, watching him, and trying to
guess whether he was vexed at being interrupted or not.
“How happy we are alone together!–I am, that is,” he said, going up to her with a
radiant smile of happiness.
“I’m just as happy. I’ll never go anywhere, especially not to Moscow.”
“And what were you thinking about?”
“I? I was thinking.... No, no, go along, go on writing; don’t break off,” she said,
pursing up her lips, “and I must cut out these little holes now, do you see?”
She took up her scissors and began cutting them out.
“No; tell me, what was it?” he said, sitting down beside her and watching the tiny
scissors moving round.
“Oh! what was I thinking about? I was thinking about Moscow, about the back of
your head.”
“Why should I, of all people, have such happiness! It’s unnatural, too good,” he
said, kissing her hand.
“I feel quite the opposite; the better things are, the more natural it seems to me.”
“And you’ve got a little curl loose,” he said, carefully turning her head round.
“A little curl, oh yes. No, no, we are busy at our work!”
Work did not progress further, and they darted apart from one another like culprits
when Kouzma came in to announce that tea was ready.
“Have they come from the town?” Levin asked Kouzma.
“They’ve just come; they’re unpacking the things.”
“Come quickly,” she said to him as she went out of the study, “or else I shall read
your letters without you.”
Left alone, after putting his manuscripts together in the new portfolio bought by
her, he washed his hands at the new washstand with the elegant fittings, that had
all made their appearance with her. Levin smiled at his own thoughts, and shook
his head disapprovingly at those thoughts; a feeling akin to remorse fretted him.
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