“To escape from what worries him,” repeated Anna.  And glancing at the red-cheeked husband and the thin wife, she saw that the sickly wife considered herself misunderstood, and the husband deceived her and encouraged her in that idea of herself.  Anna seemed to see all their history and all the crannies of their souls, as it were turning a light upon them.  But there was nothing interesting in them, and she pursued her thought.

“Yes, I’m very much worried, and that’s what reason was given me for, to escape; so then one must escape:  why not put out the light when there’s nothing more to look at, when it’s sickening to look at it all?  But how?  Why did the conductor run along the footboard, why are they shrieking, those young men in that train? why are they talking, why are they laughing?  It’s all falsehood, all lying, all humbug, all cruelty!...”

When the train came into the station, Anna got out into the crowd of passengers, and moving apart from them as if they were lepers, she stood on the platform, trying to think what she had come here for, and what she meant to do.  Everything that had seemed to her possible before was now so difficult to consider, especially in this noisy crowd of hideous people who would not leave her alone.  One moment porters ran up to her proffering their services, then young men, clacking their heels on the planks of the platform and talking loudly, stared at her; people meeting her dodged past on the wrong side.  Remembering that she had meant to go on further if there were no answer, she stopped a porter and asked if her coachman were not here with a note from Count Vronsky.

“Count Vronsky?  They sent up here from the Vronskys just this minute, to meet Princess Sorokina and her daughter.  And what is the coachman like?”

Just as she was talking to the porter, the coachman Mihail, red and cheerful in his smart blue coat and chain, evidently proud of having so successfully performed his commission, came up to her and gave her a letter.  She broke it open, and her heart ached before she had read it.

“I am very sorry your note did not reach me.  I will be home at ten,” Vronsky had written carelessly....

“Yes, that’s what I expected!” she said to herself with an evil smile.

“Very good, you can go home then,” she said softly, addressing Mihail.  She spoke softly because the rapidity of her heart’s beating hindered her breathing.  “No, I won’t let you make me miserable,” she thought menacingly, addressing not him, not herself, but the power that made her suffer, and she walked along the platform.