Anna Karenina - LimpidSoft

PART ONE CHAPTER 25
“I don’t look down on it at all,” said Konstantin Levin timidly. “I don’t even
dispute it.”
At that instant Marya Nikolaevna came back. Nikolay Levin looked round angrily
at her. She went quickly to him, and whispered something.
“I’m not well; I’ve grown irritable,” said Nikolay Levin, getting calmer and breathing
painfully; “and then you talk to me of Sergey Ivanovitch and his article. It’s such
rubbish, such lying, such self-deception. What can a man write of justice who knows
nothing of it? Have you read his article?” he asked Kritsky, sitting down again at the
table, and moving back off half of it the scattered cigarettes, so as to clear a space.
“I’ve not read it,” Kritsky responded gloomily, obviously not desiring to enter into
the conversation.
“Why not?” said Nikolay Levin, now turning with exasperation upon Kritsky.
“Because I didn’t see the use of wasting my time over it.”
“Oh, but excuse me, how did you know it would be wasting your time? That
article’s too deep for many people–that’s to say it’s over their heads. But with me,
it’s another thing; I see through his ideas, and I know where its weakness lies.”
Everyone was mute. Kritsky got up deliberately and reached his cap.
“Won’t you have supper? All right, good-bye! Come round tomorrow with the
locksmith.”
Kritsky had hardly gone out when Nikolay Levin smiled and winked.
“He’s no good either,” he said. “I see, of course...”
But at that instant Kritsky, at the door, called him...
“What do you want now?” he said, and went out to him in the passage. Left alone
with Marya Nikolaevna, Levin turned to her.
“Have you been long with my brother?” he said to her.
“Yes, more than a year. Nikolay Dmitrievitch’s health has become very poor. Nikolay
Dmitrievitch drinks a great deal,” she said.
“That is...how does he drink?”
“Drinks vodka, and it’s bad for him.”
“And a great deal?” whispered Levin.
“Yes,” she said, looking timidly towards the doorway, where Nikolay Levin had
reappeared.
“What were you talking about?” he said, knitting his brows, and turning his
scared eyes from one to the other. “What was it?”
“Oh, nothing,” Konstantin answered in confusion.
“Oh, if you don’t want to say, don’t. Only it’s no good your talking to her. She’s
a wench, and you’re a gentleman,” he said with a jerk of the neck. “You understand
everything, I see, and have taken stock of everything, and look with commiseration
on my shortcomings,” he began again, raising his voice.
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