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 with his brother, kept looking at Vronsky, trying to think of something that he might say to him so as to atone for his rudeness.

"On whom does the business depend now?" he asked, turning to Sviazhsky and Vronsky.

"On Snetkof. He must either decline or consent," replied Sviazhsky.

"What will he do, consent or not?"

"That is where the trouble lies—neither one thing nor the other," said Vronsky,

"But who will be nominated if he declines?" asked Levin, looking at Vronsky.

"Any one may," answered Sviazhsky.

"You, perhaps," suggested Levin.

"Certainly not," replied Sviazhsky, scowling, and directing an agitated look at the sarcastic gentleman who was standing near Sergyeï Ivanovitch.

"Who then? Nevyedovsky?" continued Levin, feeling that he was treading on dangerous ground.

But this was still worse; Nevyedovsky and Sviazhsky were two of the candidates.

"Not I in any case," replied the sarcastic gentleman.

It was Nevyedovsky himself. Sviazhsky introduced him to Levin.

"This takes hold of you, doesn't it?" asked Stepan Arkadyevitch, winking at Vronsky. "It's just like a race. One might put up stakes."

"Yes, indeed it takes hold," said Vronsky. "And having once begun with it, one must carry it through. It's a battle," said he, contracting his brows and compressing his powerful jaws.

"What a worker Sviazhsky is! He sees everything so clearly and plans in advance!"

"Oh, yes," said Vronsky, heedlessly.

A silence followed, during which Vronsky, since it was necessary to look at something, looked at Levin, at his legs, at his uniform, and then at his face; and noticing his downcast expression said, for the sake of saying something:—

"How is it that you who live in the country are not a