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- Анна Каренина
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- Стр. 123/828
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Anna
smiled
,
as
people
smile
at
the
weaknesses
of
those
they
love
,
and
,
putting
her
hand
under
his
,
she
escorted
him
to
the
door
of
the
study
.
She
knew
his
habit
,
that
had
grown
into
a
necessity
,
of
reading
in
the
evening
.
She
knew
,
too
,
that
in
spite
of
his
official
duties
,
which
swallowed
up
almost
the
whole
of
his
time
,
he
considered
it
his
duty
to
keep
up
with
everything
of
note
that
appeared
in
the
intellectual
world
.
She
knew
,
too
,
that
he
was
really
interested
in
books
dealing
with
politics
,
philosophy
,
and
theology
,
that
art
was
utterly
foreign
to
his
nature
;
but
,
in
spite
of
this
,
or
rather
,
in
consequence
of
it
,
Alexey
Alexandrovitch
never
passed
over
anything
in
the
world
of
art
,
but
made
it
his
duty
to
read
everything
.
She
knew
that
in
politics
,
in
philosophy
,
in
theology
,
Alexey
Alexandrovitch
often
had
doubts
,
and
made
investigations
;
but
on
questions
of
art
and
poetry
,
and
,
above
all
,
of
music
,
of
which
he
was
totally
devoid
of
understanding
,
he
had
the
most
distinct
and
decided
opinions
He
was
fond
of
talking
about
Shakespeare
,
Raphael
,
Beethoven
,
of
the
significance
of
new
schools
of
poetry
and
music
,
all
of
which
were
classified
by
him
with
very
conspicuous
consistency
.
“
Well
,
God
be
with
you
,
”
she
said
at
the
door
of
the
study
,
where
a
shaded
candle
and
a
decanter
of
water
were
already
put
by
his
armchair
.
“
And
I
’
ll
write
to
Moscow
.
”
He
pressed
her
hand
,
and
again
kissed
it
.
“
All
the
same
he
’
s
a
good
man
;
truthful
,
good
-
hearted
,
and
remarkable
in
his
own
line
,
”
Anna
said
to
herself
going
back
to
her
room
,
as
though
she
were
defending
him
to
someone
who
had
attacked
him
and
said
that
one
could
not
love
him
.
“
But
why
is
it
his
ears
stick
out
so
strangely
?
Or
has
he
had
his
hair
cut
?
”
Precisely
at
twelve
o
’
clock
,
when
Anna
was
still
sitting
at
her
writing
-
table
,
finishing
a
letter
to
Dolly
,
she
heard
the
sound
of
measured
steps
in
slippers
,
and
Alexey
Alexandrovitch
,
freshly
washed
and
combed
,
with
a
book
under
his
arm
,
came
in
to
her
.
“
It
’
s
time
,
it
’
s
time
,
”
said
he
,
with
a
meaning
smile
,
and
he
went
into
their
bedroom
.
“
And
what
right
had
he
to
look
at
him
like
that
?
”
thought
Anna
,
recalling
Vronsky
’
s
glance
at
Alexey
Alexandrovitch
.
Undressing
,
she
went
into
the
bedroom
;
but
her
face
had
none
of
the
eagerness
which
,
during
her
stay
in
Moscow
,
had
fairly
flashed
from
her
eyes
and
her
smile
;
on
the
contrary
,
now
the
fire
seemed
quenched
in
her
,
hidden
somewhere
far
away
.
When
Vronsky
went
to
Moscow
from
Petersburg
,
he
had
left
his
large
set
of
rooms
in
Morskaia
to
his
friend
and
favorite
comrade
Petritsky
.
