Page 247 - ANNA KARENINA

Anna Karenina

of it, Alexey Alexandrovitch never passed over anything in
the world of art, but made it his duty to read everything.
She knew that in politics, in philosophy, in theology,
Alexey Alexandrovitch often had doubts, and made

investigations; but on questions of art and poetry, and,
above all, of music, of which he was totally devoid of
understanding, he had the most distinct and decided
opinions. He was fond of talking about Shakespeare,
Raphael, Beethoven, of the significance of new schools of
poetry and music, all of which were classified by him with
very conspicuous consistency.
‘Well, God be with you,’ she said at the door of the
study, where a shaded candle and a decanter of water were
already put by his armchair. ‘And I’ll write to Moscow.’
He pressed her hand, and again kissed it.
‘All the same he’s a good man; truthful, good-hearted,
and remarkable in his own line,’ Anna said to herself going
back to her room, as though she were defending him to
someone who had attacked him and said that one could
not love him. ‘But why is it his ears stick out so strangely?
Or has he had his hair cut?’
Precisely at twelve o’clock, when Anna was still sitting
at her writing table, finishing a letter to Dolly, she heard
the sound of measured steps in slippers, and Alexey

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