Page 913 - ANNA KARENINA

Anna Karenina

wastepaper basket, and the tiger-skin rug. The hurried,
creaking steps of his servant coming through the drawing
room brought him to his senses. He made an effort at
thought, and was aware that he was on the floor; and

seeing blood on the tiger-skin rug and on his arm, he
knew he had shot himself.
‘Idiotic! Missed!’ he said, fumbling after the revolver.
The revolver was close beside him—he sought further off.
Still feeling for it, he stretched out to the other side, and
not being strong enough to keep his balance, fell over,
streaming with blood.
The elegant, whiskered manservant, who used to be
continually complaining to his acquaintances of the
delicacy of his nerves, was so panic-stricken on seeing his
master lying on the floor, that he left him losing blood
while he ran for assistance. An hour later Varya, his
brother’s wife, had arrived, and with the assistance of three
doctors, whom she had sent for in all directions, and who
all appeared at the same moment, she got the wounded
man to bed, and remained to nurse him.

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