It must be Saturday because Anna Karenina and her husband, Alexei, are having sex. The act is passionless and mechanical. They are fully dressed, the silk of Anna’s metallic purple gown staying as unruffled as the buttoned-up jacket of Alexei’s uniform.
But they are not the only ones there. Drawing Anna away, first mentally, then physically, is Alexei Vronsky, her handsome younger lover, who turns a tepid bedroom scene into one of bodice-ripping lust. If you want to know why Anna is tempted, this is all the reason you need. Her husband slips out of sight.
