Anna Karenina HTML version

Chapter II.3
When she went into Kitty's little room, a pretty, pink little room, full of knick-
knacks in vieux saxe, as fresh, and pink, and white, and gay as Kitty herself had
been two months ago, Dolly remembered how they had decorated the room the
year before together, with what love and gaiety. Her heart turned cold when she
saw Kitty sitting on a low chair near the door, her eyes fixed immovably on a
corner of the rug. Kitty glanced at her sister, and the cold, rather ill-tempered
expression of her face did not change.
"I'm just going now, and I shall have to keep in and you won't be able to come to
see me," said Dolly, sitting down beside her. "I want to talk to you."
"What about?" Kitty asked swiftly, lifting her head in dismay.
"What should it be, but your trouble?"
"I have no trouble."
"Nonsense, Kitty. Do you suppose I could help knowing? I know all about it. And
believe me, it's of so little consequence.... We've all been through it."
Kitty did not speak, And her face had a stern expression.
"He's not worth your grieving over him," pursued Darya Alexandrovna, coming
straight to the point.
"No, because he has treated me with contempt," said Kitty, in a breaking voice.
"Don't talk of it! Please, don't talk of it!"
"But who can have told you so? No one has said that. I'm certain he was in love
with you, and would still be in love with you, if it hadn't...
"Oh, the most awful thing of all for me is this sympathizing!" shrieked Kitty,
suddenly flying into a passion. She turned round on her chair, flushed crimson,
and rapidly moving her fingers, pinched the clasp of her belt first with one hand
and then with the other. Dolly knew this trick her sister had of clenching her
hands when she was much excited; she knew, too, that in moments of
excitement Kitty was capable of forgetting herself and saying a great deal too
much, and Dolly would have soothed her, but it was too late.
"What, what is it you want to make me feel, eh?" said Kitty quickly. "That I've
been in love with a man who didn't care a straw for me, And that I'm dying of love