o live in the town; sometimes
she recognized that it was really hard for him to order his life
here so that he could be satisfied with it.

What had he to do, indeed? He did not care for cards; he did not
go to a club. Spending the time with jovial gentlemen of
Oblonsky's type--she knew now what that meant...it meant drinking
and going somewhere after drinking. She could not think without
horror of where men went on such occasions. Was he to go into
society? But she knew he could only find satisfaction in that if
he took pleasure in the society of young women, and that she
could not wish for. Should he stay at home with her, her mother
and her sisters? But much as she liked and enjoyed their
conversations forever on the same subjects--"Aline-Nadine," as
the old prince called the sisters' talks--she knew it must bore
him. What was there left for him to do? To go on writing at his
book he had indeed attempted, and at first he used to go to the
library and make extracts and look up references for his book.
But, as he told her, the more he did nothing, the less time he
had to do anything. And besides, he complained that he had
talked too much about his book here, and that consequently all
his ideas about it were muddled and had lost their interest for
him.

One advantage in this town life was that quarrels hardly ever
happened between them here in town. Whether it was that their
conditions were different, or that they had both become more
careful and sensible in that respect, they had no quarrels in
Moscow from jealousy, which they had so dreaded when they moved
from the country.

One event, an event of great importance to both from that point
of view, did indeed happen--that was Kitty's meeting with
Vronsky.

The old Princess Marya Borissovna, Kitty's godmother, who had
always been very fond of her, had insisted on seeing her. Kitty,
though she did not go into society at all on account of her
condition, went with her father to see the venerable old lady,
and there met Vronsky.

The only thing Kitty could reproach herself for at this meeting
was that at the instant when she recognized in his civilian dress
the features once so familiar to her, her breath failed her, the
blood rushed to her heart, and a vivid blush--she felt it--
overspread her face. But this lasted only a few seconds. Before
her father, who purposely began talking in a loud voice to
Vronsky, had finished, she was perfectly ready to l