though someone were being torn to pieces; then there was a blinding dazzle of red fire before her eyes and a wall seemed to rise up and hide everything.  Anna felt as though she were sinking down.  But it was not terrible, but delightful.  The voice of a man muffled up and covered with snow shouted something in her ear.  She got up and pulled herself together; she realized that they had reached a station and that this was the guard.  She asked Annushka to hand her the cape she had taken off and her shawl, put them on and moved towards the door.

“Do you wish to get out?” asked Annushka.

“Yes, I want a little air.  It’s very hot in here.”  And she opened the door.  The driving snow and the wind rushed to meet her and struggled with her over the door.  But she enjoyed the struggle.

She opened the door and went out.  The wind seemed as though lying in wait for her; with gleeful whistle it tried to snatch her up and bear her off, but she clung to the cold door post, and holding her skirt got down onto the platform and under the shelter of the carriages.  The wind had been powerful on the steps, but on the platform, under the lee of the carriages, there was a lull.  With enjoyment she drew deep breaths of the frozen, snowy air, and standing near the carriage looked about the platform and the lighted station.

Chapter 30

The raging tempest rushed whistling between the wheels of the carriages, about the scaffolding, and round the corner of the station.  The carriages, posts, people, everything that was to be seen was covered with snow on one side, and was getting more and more thickly covered.  For a moment there would come a lull in the storm, but then it would swoop down again with such onslaughts that it seemed impossible to stand against it.  Meanwhile men ran to and fro, talking merrily together, their steps crackling on the platform as they continually opened and closed the big doors.  The bent shadow of a man glided by at her feet, and she heard sounds of a hammer upon iron.  “Hand over that telegram!” came an angry voice out of the stormy darkness on the other side.  “This way!  No. 28!” several different voices shouted again, and muffled figures ran by covered with snow.  Two gentlemen with lighted cigarettes passed by her.  She drew one more deep breath of the fresh air, and had just put her hand out of her muff to take hold of the door post and get back into the carriage, when another man in a military overcoat, quite close beside her, stepped between her and the flickering light of the lamp post.  She looked round, and the same instant recognized Vronsky’s face.  Putting his hand to the peak of his cap, he bowed to her and asked, Was there anything she wanted?  Could he be of any service to her?  She gazed rather a long while at him without answering, and, in spite of the shadow in which he was standing, she saw, or fancied she