He turned, and without picking up his cap that had fallen off, walked away from the race course, not knowing where he was going.

He felt utterly wretched.

For the first time in his life he knew the bitterest sort of misfortune, misfortune beyond remedy, and caused by his own fault.

Yashvin overtook him with his cap, and led him home, and half an hour later Vronsky had regained his self-possession.

But the memory of that race remained for long in his heart, the cruelest and bitterest memory of his life.