Page 427 - ANNA KARENINA

Anna Karenina

competitors were summoned to the pavilion to receive
their numbers and places in the row at starting. Seventeen
officers, looking serious and severe, many with pale faces,
met together in the pavilion and drew the numbers.

Vronsky drew the number seven. The cry was heard:
‘Mount!’
Feeling that with the others riding in the race, he was
the center upon which all eyes were fastened, Vronsky
walked up to his mare in that state of nervous tension in
which he usually became deliberate and composed in his
movements. Cord, in honor of the races, had put on his
best clothes, a black coat buttoned up, a stiffly starched
collar, which propped up his cheeks, a round black hat,
and top boots. He was calm and dignified as ever, and was
with his own hands holding Frou-Frou by both reins,
standing straight in front of her. Frou-Frou was still
trembling as though in a fever. Her eye, full of fire,
glanced sideways at Vronsky. Vronsky slipped his finger
under the saddle-girth. The mare glanced aslant at him,
drew up her lip, and twitched her ear. The Englishman
puckered up his lips, intending to indicate a smile that
anyone should verify his saddling.
‘Get up; you won’t feel so excited.’

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