Anna Karenina

all that, all sorts of pictures of his work and a future family life
rose disconnectedly before his imagination. He felt that in the
depth of his soul something was steadying, settling down, and abating.
He heard Agathya Mikhailovna talking of how Prokhor had forgotten
his duty to God, and, with the money Levin had given him to buy a
horse, had been drinking without a letup, and had beaten his wife till
he'd half-killed her. He listened, and read his book, and recalled the
whole train of ideas suggested by his reading. It was Tyndall's
Treatise on Heat. He recalled his own criticisms of Tyndall for his
self-complacency in the cleverness of his experiments, and for his
lack of philosophic insight. And suddenly there floated into his
mind the joyful thought: "In two years' time I shall have two Dutch
cows in my herd; Pava herself will perhaps still be alive; a dozen
young daughters of Berkoot, and these three added for show- it would
be marvelous!" He took up his book again. "Now well, electricity and
heat are the same thing; but is it possible to substitute one quantity
for the other in an equation for the solution of any problem? No.
Well, then what of it? The connection between all the forces of nature
is felt instinctively, anyway.... It'll be particularly pleasant
when Pava's daughter will be a red-dappled cow like all the herd, to
which the other three should be added! Splendid! I'll go out with my
wife and visitors to meet the herd.... My wife says, 'Kostia and I
looked after that heifer like a child.' 'How can it interest you so
much?' says a visitor. 'Everything that interests him, interests
me.' But who will she be?" And he remembered what had happened at
Moscow.... "Well, there's nothing to be done.... It's not my fault.
But now everything shall go on in a new way. It's nonsense to
pretend that life won't let one, that the past won't let one. One must
struggle to live better- far better...." He raised his head, and
sank into thought. Old Laska, who had not yet fully digested her
delight at his return, and had run out into the yard to bark, came
back wagging her tail, and crept up to him, bringing in the scent of
the fresh air, put her head under his hand, and yelped plaintively,
asking to be stroked.
{PART_ONE|CHAPTER_XXVII ^paragraph 5}
"If she could but speak," said Agathya Mikhailovna. "Even though
it's a dog... Yet she understands that her master's come home, and
that he's low-spirited."
"Why low-spirited?"
"Do you suppose I don't see it, my dear? It's high time I should
know the gentlefolk. Why, I've grown up from a little thing with them.
Never mind, sir, so long as one has health and a clear conscience."
Levin looked intently at her, surprised at how well she had fathomed
his thoughts.
"Shall I fetch you another cup?" she asked and, taking his cup,