XXVIII

“Yes, I mustn’t think, I must do something, drive somewhere, and most of all, get out of this house,” she said, feeling with terror the strange turmoil going on in her own heart, and she made haste to go out and get into the carriage.

“Where to?” asked Pyotr before getting onto the box.

“To Znamenka, the Oblonskys’.”

It was bright and sunny. A fine rain had been falling all the morning, and now it had not long cleared up. The iron roofs, the flags of the roads, the flints of the pavements, the wheels and leather, the brass and the tinplate of the carriages⁠—all glistened brightly in the May sunshine. It was three o’clock, and the very liveliest time in the streets.