Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 14, 2025
An hour later Varya, his brother's wife, had arrived, and with the assistance of three doctors, whom she had sent for in all directions, and who all appeared at the same moment, she got the wounded man to bed, and remained to nurse him.
And Sasha looked almost with hatred at his young wife, and whispered: "It's you they've come to see! . . . Damn them!" "No, it's you," answered Varya, pale with anger. "They're your relations! they're not mine!" And turning to her visitors, she said with a smile of welcome: "Welcome to the cottage!" The moon came out again. She seemed to smile, as though she were glad she had no relations.
He wanted to tell her how passionately he loved her, but he was afraid he would be overheard by the officers and Varya, and he was silent.
While his uncle talked and kissed them, Sasha had a vision of their little cottage: he and Varya giving up their three little rooms, all the pillows and bedding to their guests; the salmon, the sardines, the chicken all devoured in a single instant; the cousins plucking the flowers in their little garden, spilling the ink, filled the cottage with noise and confusion; his aunt talking continually about her ailments and her papa's having been Baron von Fintich. . . .
It's really strange...." "Mamma," Liza says to her reproachfully, "let her alone, if she doesn't want to. We are not going down on our knees to her." "It's very neglectful, anyway. To sit for three hours in the study without remembering our existence! But of course she must do as she likes." Varya and Liza both hate Katya.
At the time when the elder brother, with a mass of debts, married Princess Varya Tchirkova, the daughter of a Decembrist without any fortune whatever, Alexey had given up to his elder brother almost the whole income from his father's estate, reserving for himself only twenty-five thousand a year from it.
"Tell me, madam, how do you explain your walking with Polyansky every day? Oh, it's not for nothing she walks with an hussar!" "That's poor," said Varya, and walked away. Then under the shawl he saw the shine of big motionless eyes, caught the lines of a dear profile in the dark, together with a familiar, precious fragrance which reminded Nikitin of Masha's room.
Leaving the Princess Sorokina with her mother, Varya held out her hand to her brother-in-law, and began immediately to speak of what interested him. She was more excited than he had ever seen her. "I think it's mean and hateful, and Madame Kartasova had no right to do it. Madame Karenina..." she began. "But what is it? I don't know." "What? you've not heard?"
Could that woman be no other than the Varya who had once borne me a son? I look with strained attention into the face of this flabby, spiritless, clumsy old woman, seeking in her my Varya, but of her past self nothing is left but her anxiety over my health and her manner of calling my salary "our salary," and my cap "our cap."
At supper Varya had another argument, and this time with her father. Polyansky ate stolidly, drank red wine, and described to Nikitin how once in a winter campaign he had stood all night up to his knees in a bog; the enemy was so near that they were not allowed to speak or smoke, the night was cold and dark, a piercing wind was blowing. Nikitin listened and stole side-glances at Masha.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking