“What are we all miserable for, when everything might be so happy?”

“Only not he. Don’t I know him, the falsity in which he’s utterly steeped?⁠ ⁠… Could one, with any feeling, live as he is living with me? He understands nothing, and feels nothing. Could a man of any feeling live in the same house with his unfaithful wife? Could he talk to her, call her ‘my dear’?”

And again she could not help mimicking him: “ ‘Anna, ma chère ; Anna, dear!’ ”

“He’s not a man, not a human being⁠—he’s a doll! No one knows him; but I know him. Oh, if I’d been in his place, I’d long ago have killed, have torn to pieces a wife like me. I wouldn’t have said, ‘Anna, ma chère ’! He’s not a man, he’s an official machine. He doesn’t understand that I’m your wife, that he’s outside, that he’s superfluous.⁠ ⁠… Don’t let’s talk of him!⁠ ⁠…”