صفحة 280 من 2288

The fuss and bustle were disturbing; then when the train had

started, she could not help listening to the noises; then the

snow beating on the left window and sticking to the pane, and the

sight of the muffled guard passing by, covered with snow on one

side, and the conversations about the terrible snowstorm raging

outside, distracted her attention. Farther on, it was continually

the same again and again: the same shaking and rattling, the same

snow on the window, the same rapid transitions from steaming heat

to cold, and back again to heat, the same passing glimpses of the

same figures in the twilight, and the same voices, and Anna began

to read and to understand what she read. Annushka was already

dozing, the red bag on her lap, clutched by her broad hands, in

gloves, of which one was torn. Anna Arkadyevna read and

understood, but it was distasteful to her to read, that is, to

follow the reflection of other people's lives. She had too great

a desire to live herself.