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When the three-mile steeplechase was beginning, she bent forward

and gazed with fixed eyes at Vronsky as he went up to his horse

and mounted, and at the same time she heard that loathsome,

never-ceasing voice of her husband. She was in an agony of terror

for Vronsky, but a still greater agony was the never-ceasing, as

it seemed to her, stream of her husband's shrill voice with its

familiar intonations.