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"That must be Vronsky," thought Levin, and, to be sure of it,

glanced at Kitty. She had already had time to look at Vronsky,

and looked round at Levin. And simply from the look in her eyes,

that grew unconsciously brighter, Levin knew that she loved that

man, knew it as surely as if she had told him so in words. But

what sort of a man was he? Now, whether for good or for ill,

Levin could not choose but remain; he must find out what the man

was like whom she loved.