When she saw once more those composed gestures, heard that shrill, childish, and sarcastic voice, her aversion for him extinguished her pity for him, and she felt only afraid, but at all costs she wanted to make clear her position.

“I cannot be your wife while I.⁠ ⁠…” she began.

He laughed a cold and malignant laugh.

“The manner of life you have chosen is reflected, I suppose, in your ideas. I have too much respect or contempt, or both⁠ ⁠… I respect your past and despise your present⁠ ⁠… that I was far from the interpretation you put on my words.”

Anna sighed and bowed her head.

“Though indeed I fail to comprehend how, with the independence you show,” he went on, getting hot, “⁠—announcing your infidelity to your husband and seeing nothing reprehensible in it, apparently⁠—you can see anything reprehensible in performing a wife’s duties in relation to your husband.”