When she thought of Vronsky, it seemed to her that he did not love her, that he was already beginning to be tired of her, that she could not offer herself to him, and she felt bitter against him for it.

It seemed to her that the words that she had spoken to her husband, and had continually repeated in her imagination, she had said to everyone, and everyone had heard them.

She could not bring herself to look those of her own household in the face.

She could not bring herself to call her maid, and still less go downstairs and see her son and his governess.