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"What does it mean? Who is he? How ought I to love him? If I

don't know, it's my fault; either I'm stupid or a naughty boy,"

thought the child. And this was what caused his dubious,

inquiring, sometimes hostile, expression, and the shyness and

uncertainty which Vronsky found so irksome. This child's presence

always and infallibly called up in Vronsky that strange feeling

of inexplicable loathing which he had experienced of late. This

child's presence called up both in Vronsky and in Anna a feeling

akin to the feeling of a sailor who sees by the compass that the

direction in which he is swiftly moving is far from the right

one, but that to arrest his motion is not in his power, that

every instant is carrying him further and further away, and that

to admit to himself his deviation from the right direction is the

same as admitting his certain ruin.