Page 254 - ANNA KARENINA

Anna Karenina

continually to lend him money. But he had found a girl—
he’d show her to Vronsky—a marvel, exquisite, in the
strict Oriental style, ‘genre of the slave Rebecca, don’t you
know.’ He’d had a row, too, with Berkoshov, and was

going to send seconds to him, but of course it would
come to nothing. Altogether everything was supremely
amusing and jolly. And, not letting his comrade enter into
further details of his position, Petritsky proceeded to tell
him all the interesting news. As he listened to Petritsky’s
familiar stories in the familiar setting of the rooms he had
spent the last three years in, Vronsky felt a delightful sense
of coming back to the careless Petersburg life that he was
used to.
‘Impossible!’ he cried, letting down the pedal of the
washing basin in which he had been sousing his healthy
red neck. ‘Impossible!’ he cried, at the news that Laura had
flung over Fertinghof and had made up to Mileev. ‘And is
he as stupid and pleased as ever? Well, and how’s
Buzulukov?’
‘Oh, there is a tale about Buzulukov—simply lovely!’
cried Petritsky. ‘You know his weakness for balls, and he
never misses a single court ball. He went to a big ball in a
new helmet. Have you seen the new helmets? Very nice,
lighter. Well, so he’s standing.... No, I say, do listen.’

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