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And here I am living on. The children are growing up, my husband has
come back to his family, and feels his fault, is growing purer, better, and
I live on.... I have forgiven it, and you ought to forgive!”
Alexey Alexandrovitch heard her, but her words had no effect on
him now. All the hatred of that day when he had resolved on a divorce
had sprung up again in his soul. He shook himself, and said in a shrill,
loud voice:
“Forgive I cannot, and do not wish to, and I regard it as wrong. I
have done everything for this woman, and she has trodden it all in the
mud to which she is akin. I am not a spiteful man, I have never hated
anyone, but I hate her with my whole soul, and I cannot even forgive
her, because I hate her too much for all the wrong she has done me!” he
said, with tones of hatred in his voice.
“Love those that hate you....” Darya Alexandrovna whispered
timorously.
Alexey Alexandrovitch smiled contemptuously. That he knew long
ago, but it could not be applied to his case.
“Love those that hate you, but to love those one hates is impos-
sible. Forgive me for having troubled you. Everyone has enough to
bear in his own grief!” And regaining his self-possession, Alexey
Alexandrovitch quietly took leave and went away.
Chapter 13.
When they rose from table, Levin would have liked to follow Kitty
into the drawing room; but he was afraid she might dislike this, as too
obviously paying her attention. He remained in the little ring of men,
taking part in the general conversation, and without looking at Kitty, he
was aware of her movements, her looks, and the place where she was in
the drawing room.
He did at once, and without the smallest effort, keep the promise
he had made her—always to think well of all men, and to like everyone
always. The conversation fell on the village commune, in which Pestsov
saw a sort of special principle, called by him the choral principle. Levin
did not agree with Pestsov, nor with his brother, who had a special
attitude of his own, both admitting and not admitting the significance
of the Russian commune. But he talked to them, simply trying to
reconcile and soften their differences. He was not in the least inter-
ested in what he said himself, and even less so in what they said; all he
wanted was that they and everyone should be happy and contented.
He knew now the one thing of importance; and that one thing was at
first there, in the drawing room, and then began moving across and
came to a standstill at the door. Without turning round he felt the eyes
fixed on him, and the smile, and he could not help turning round. She
was standing in the doorway with Shtcherbatsky, looking at him.