Page 904 - ANNA KARENINA

Anna Karenina

Alexey Alexandrovitch took Vronsky’s hands and drew
them away from his face, which was awful with the
expression of agony and shame upon it.
‘Give him your hand. Forgive him.’

Alexey Alexandrovitch gave him his hand, not
attempting to restrain the tears that streamed from his eyes.
‘Thank God, thank God!’ she said, ‘now everything is
ready. Only to stretch my legs a little. There, that’s capital.
How badly these flowers are done—not a bit like a violet,’
she said, pointing to the hangings. ‘My God, my God!
when will it end? Give me some morphine. Doctor, give
me some morphine! Oh, my God, my God!’
And she tossed about on the bed.
The doctors said that it was puerperal fever, and that it
was ninety-nine chances in a hundred it would end in
death. The whole day long there was fever, delirium, and
unconsciousness. At midnight the patient lay without
consciousness, and almost without pulse.
The end was expected every minute.
Vronsky had gone home, but in the morning he came
to inquire, and Alexey Alexandrovitch meeting him in the
hall, said: ‘Better stay, she might ask for you,’ and himself
led him to his wife’s boudoir. Towards morning, there
was a return again of excitement, rapid thought and talk,

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