scowling brows, wrapping his numbed and bony legs in the fleecy rug.

“Apart from formal divorce, One might still do like Karibanov, Paskudin, and that good fellow Dram — that is, separate from one’s wife,” he went on thinking, when he had regained his composure. But this step too presented the same drawback of public scandal as a divorce, and what was more, a separation, quite as much as a regular divorce, flung his wife into the arms of Vronsky. “No, it’s out of the question, out of the question!” he said again, twisting his rug about him again. “I cannot be unhappy, but neither she nor he ought to be happy.”

The feeling of jealousy, which had tortured him during the period of uncertainty, had passed away at the instant when the tooth