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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 1,033 pages of information about Anna Karenina.

Smiling, hardly able to restrain his tears, Levin kissed his wife and went out of the dark room.  What he felt towards this little creature was utterly unlike what he had expected.  There was nothing cheerful and joyous in the feeling; on the contrary, it was a new torture of apprehension.  It was the consciousness of a new sphere of liability to pain.  And this sense was so painful at first, the apprehension lest this helpless creature should suffer was so intense, that it prevented him from noticing the strange thrill of senseless joy and even pride that he had felt when the baby sneezed.

Chapter 17

Stepan Arkadyevitch’s affairs were in a very bad way.

The money for two-thirds of the forest had all been spent already, and he had borrowed from the merchant in advance at ten per cent discount, almost all the remaining third.  The merchant would not give more, especially as Darya Alexandrovna, for the first time that winter insisting on her right to her own property, had refused to sign the receipt for the payment of the last third of the forest.  All his salary went on household expenses and in payment of petty debts that could not be put off.  There was positively no money.

This was unpleasant and awkward, and in Stepan Arkadyevitch’s opinion things could not go on like this.  The explanation of the position was, in his view, to be found in the fact that his salary was too small.  The post he filled had been unmistakably very good five years ago, but it was so no longer.

Petrov, the bank director, had twelve thousand; Sventitsky, a company director, had seventeen thousand; Mitin, who had founded a bank, received fifty thousand.

“Clearly I’ve been napping, and they’ve overlooked me,” Stepan Arkadyevitch thought about himself.  And he began keeping his eyes and ears open, and towards the end of the winter he had discovered a very good berth and had formed a plan of attack upon it, at first from Moscow through aunts, uncles, and friends, and then, when the matter was well advanced, in the spring, he went himself to Petersburg.  It was one of those snug, lucrative berths of which there are so many more nowadays than there used to be, with incomes ranging from one thousand to fifty thousand roubles.  It was the post of secretary of the committee of the amalgamated agency of the southern railways, and of certain banking companies.  This position, like all such appointments, called for such immense energy and such varied qualifications, that it was difficult for them to be found united in any one man.  And since a man combining all the qualifications was not to be found, it was at least better that the post be filled by an honest than by a dishonest man.  And Stepan Arkadyevitch was not merely an honest man—­unemphatically—­in the common acceptation of the words, he was an honest man—­emphatically—­in that special sense which the word has in Moscow, when they talk of an “honest” politician, an “honest” writer, an “honest” newspaper, an “honest” institution, an “honest” tendency, meaning not simply that the man or the institution is not dishonest, but that they are capable on occasion of taking a line of their own in opposition to the authorities.

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