Anna Karenina

dinner, and till the beginning of the evening, Kitty was
experiencing a sensation akin to that of a young man before a
battle. Her heart throbbed violently, and her thoughts would not
rest on anything.
She felt that this evening, when both these men would meet for the
first time, would be a turning point in her life. And she was
continually picturing them to herself, at one moment each
individually, and then both together. When she mused on the past,
she dwelt with pleasure, with tenderness, on the memories of her
relations with Levin. The memories of childhood and of Levin's
friendship with her dead brother have a special poetic charm to her
relations with him. His love for her, of which she felt certain, was
flattering and delightful to her; and it was easy for her to think
of Levin. In her memories of Vronsky there always entered a certain
element of awkwardness, though he was in the highest degree a
fashionable and even-tempered man, as though there were some false
note- not in Vronsky, he was very simple and charming- but in herself;
while with Levin she felt herself perfectly simple and clear. But,
on the other hand, directly she thought of the future with Vronsky,
there arose before her a perspective of brilliant happiness; with
Levin the future seemed misty.
When she went upstairs to dress, and looked into the looking
glass, she noticed with joy that it was one of her good days, and that
she was in complete possession of all her forces- she needed this so
for what lay before her: she was conscious of external composure and
free grace in her movements.
At half-past seven she had only just gone down into the drawing
room, when the footman announced, "Constantin Dmitrievich Levin."
The Princess was still in her room, and the Prince had not come in.
"So it is to be," thought Kitty, and all the blood seemed to rush to
her heart. She was horrified at her paleness, as she glanced into
the looking glass.
At that moment she knew beyond doubt that he had come early on
purpose to find her alone and to propose to her. And only then for the
first time the whole thing presented itself in a new, different
aspect; only then she realized that the question did not affect her
only- with whom she would be happy, and whom she loved- but that she
would have that moment to wound a man whom she liked. And to wound him
cruelly... Wherefore? Because he, dear fellow, loved her, was in
love with her. But there was no help for it; it must be so- it would
have to be so.
{PART_ONE|CHAPTER_XIII ^paragraph 5}
"My God! shall I myself really have to say it to him?" she
thought. "Can I tell him I don't love him? That will be a lie. What am
I to say to him? That I love someone else? No, that's impossible.
I'm