The weapon she must not use twice

Anna, who had involuntarily done everything to make Levin love her — as she now does with every young man she meets — forgets him the moment he is out of the room. One thought pursues her: if she can do that to a married man who loves his wife, why is Vronsky cold? Not cold, since he loves her, but something divides them. He stayed with Yashvin, which is true, since he never lies, and behind the truth is the wish to prove that loving her does not touch his freedom. She does not need proofs, she needs love. She waits for a solution deferred and deferred; the English family, the writing, the reading are all a kind of morphia. When he rings she dries her eyes and opens a book. The quarrel runs its course: he wanted to stay, so he stayed; she calls it obstinacy and a question of conquering her; then says she is near a catastrophe and afraid of herself, and wins. He grows colder for having submitted, and she notes that the weapon must not be used twice.

The evening Levin will remember for a week costs Anna nothing and is forgotten in a sentence — Tolstoy's coldest joke about charm. Her diagnosis of Vronsky is exact and useless. The threat of catastrophe is registered by both of them as a weapon rather than a confession, and she files it for later; the reader is told it works and must not be repeated.