It is not jealousy that makes me hateful but my unsatisfaction. As I demand that he give himself entirely up to me, he wants to get further and further from me. I know he is always faithful, but I want his love, not his kindness inspired by a sense of duty. That is much worse than having him hate me. Where love dies, hate begins. Anna glances at the houses she passes, where live people and "more people, and all hating each other." Would things change if she gained her divorce, Anna wonders, and concludes "No." That would not bring them happiness, just "absence of torment." I cause his unhappiness and he mine, she thinks. "Life is sundering us." Love is transient, but hate is everywhere. She loved Seriozha, but exchanged him for another love and did not complain "while this other love satisfied her. Alighting at the station, Anna takes her place in the corner of the train to avoid other people. A porter
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