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 carried on. There seemed to be no lack of subjects at any moment; but it was felt that there was time to say all that any one wanted to say, and each was willing to listen when the other talked. And all that was said, not only by Anna herself, but by Vorkuyef and by Stepan Arkadyevitch, had a special significance, thanks to her interested attention and her pertinent remarks; so at least it seemed to Levin.

All the time they were talking Levin studied her, and admired her beauty and the cultivation of her mind, and not less her perfect simplicity and naturalness. He listened and talked, and all the time thought about her and her inner life, and tried to penetrate her feelings; and he, who had formerly criticized her so severely, now by some strange train of thought justified her and pitied her, and confessed to himself the fear that Vronsky did not wholly understand her.

It was more than eleven o'clock when Stepan Arkadyevitch rose to go. Vorkuyef had already left some time before. Levin rose, too, but with regret. He felt as if he had only just come.

"Prashchaïte—farewell," said Anna to him, holding his hand in hers, and looking into his eyes with a fascinating look. "I am glad que la glace est rompue."

She let go his hand, and her eyes twinkled.

"Tell your wife that I love her as I have always done; and, if she cannot forgive me my position, tell her how I hope she may never pardon me; for to pardon, it is necessary to understand what I have suffered; and God preserve her from that!"

"Yes! I will surely tell her," answered Levin, and the color came into his face.

CHAPTER XI

" a wonderful, lovely, and pitiable woman!" thought Levin, as he went out with Stepan Arkadyevitch into the cold night air.

"There! what did I tell you?" demanded Oblon-