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She, his Dolly, forever fussing and worrying over household

details, and limited in her ideas, as he considered, was sitting

perfectly still with the letter in her hand, looking at him with

an expression of horror, despair, and indignation.

"What's this? this?" she asked, pointing to the letter.

And at this recollection, Stepan Arkadyevitch, as is so often the

case, was not so much annoyed at the fact itself as at the way in

which he had met his wife's words.