How is it?

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    "To be sure, and manage that your hand may not be far from his lips.
      He'll kiss your hand, and all will end satisfactorily," answered
    Vronsky. "So at the Francais!" and, with a rustle of her skirts, she
    vanished. Kamerovsky got up too, and Vronsky, not waiting for him to
       go, shook hands and went off to his dressing room. While he was
   washing, Petritsky described to him in brief outlines his position, as
    far as it had changed since Vronsky had left Petersburg. No money at
    all. His father said he wouldn't give him any and pay his debts. His
    tailor was trying to get him locked up, and another fellow, too, was
      threatening to get him locked up. The colonel of the regiment had
   announced that if these scandals did not cease he would have to leave.
     As for the baroness, he was sick to death of her, especially since
   she'd taken to offering continually to lend him money. But he had found
    a girl--he'd show her to Vronsky--a marvel, exquisite, in the strict
   Oriental style, "genre of the slave Rebecca, don't you know." He'd had
    a row, too, with Berkoshov, and was going to send seconds to him, but
   of course it would come to nothing. Altogether everything was supremely
     amusing and jolly. And, not letting his comrade enter into further
                          details of his position,