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 a stern and resolute expression, showed her confusion and anguish of mind.

"Dolly," said he, in a gentle, subdued voice. He hung his head and tried to assume a humble and submissive mien, but nevertheless he was radiant with fresh life and health. She gave him a quick glance which took in his whole figure from head to foot, radiant with life and health.

"Yes, he is happy and contented," she said to herself,.... "but I?.... And this good nature which makes everybody like him so well and praise him is revolting to me! I hate this good nature of his."

Her mouth grew firm, the muscles of her right cheek contracted, she looked pale and nervous.

"What do you want?" she demanded, in a quick, unnatural tone.

"Dolly," he repeated, with a quaver in his voice, "Anna is coming to-day."

"Well, what is that to me? I cannot receive her," she cried.

"Still, it must be done, Dolly."....

"Go away! go away! go away!" she cried, without looking at him, and as if her words were torn from her by physical agony.

Stepan Arkadyevitch might be calm enough as his thoughts turned to his wife, he might have some hope that it would all straighten itself out according to Matve's prediction, and he might be able tranquilly to read his morning paper and drink his coffee; but when he saw her tortured, suffering face, when he heard that resigned and hopeless tone of her voice, he breathed hard, something rose in his throat, and his eyes filled with tears.

"My God! What have I done? for God's sake!.... See...."

He could not say another word for the sobs that choked him.

She shut the drawer violently, and looked at him.

"Dolly, what can I say?.... Only one thing: forgive me. Just think! Cannot nine years of my life pay for a single moment, a moment...."