United States or Samoa ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
It was six o'clock already, and so, in order to be there quickly, and at the same time not to drive with his own horses, known to everyone, Vronsky got into Yashvin's hired fly, and told the driver to drive as quickly as possible. It was a roomy, old-fashioned fly, with seats for four. He sat in one corner, stretched his legs out on the front seat, and sank into meditation.
Yashvin's face wore the expression which was common when he was losing at cards. Scowling, he sucked the left end of his mustache further and further into his mouth, and cast sidelong glances at the next box. In that box on the left were the Kartasovs. Vronsky knew them, and knew that Anna was acquainted with them.
Petritsky, still humming, winked and made a pout with his lips, as though he would say: "Oh, yes, we know your Bryansky." "Mind you're not late!" was Yashvin's only comment; and to change the conversation: "How's my roan? is he doing all right?" he inquired, looking out of the window at the middle one of the three horses, which he had sold Vronsky.
"Bravo, Vronsky!" he heard shouts from a knot of men he knew they were his friends in the regiment who were standing at the obstacle. He could not fail to recognize Yashvin's voice though he did not see him. "O my sweet!" he said inwardly to Frou-Frou, as he listened for what was happening behind. "He's cleared it!" he thought, catching the thud of Gladiator's hoofs behind him.
Word Of The Day