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steps she went quickly to the sick man’s bedside, and going up so that
he had not to turn his head, she immediately clasped in her fresh
young hand the skeleton of his huge hand, pressed it, and began speak-
ing with that soft eagerness, sympathetic and not jarring, which is
peculiar to women.
“We have met, though we were not acquainted, at Soden,” she
said. “You never thought I was to be your sister?”
“You would not have recognized me?” he said, with a radiant smile
at her entrance.
“Yes, I should. What a good thing you let us know! Not a day has
passed that Kostya has not mentioned you, and been anxious.”
But the sick man’s interest did not last long.
Before she had finished speaking, there had come back into his
face the stern, reproachful expression of the dying man’s envy of the
living.
“I am afraid you are not quite comfortable here,” she said, turning
away from his fixed stare, and looking about the room. “We must ask
about another room,” she said to her husband, “so that we might be
nearer.”
Chapter 18.
Levin could not look calmly at his brother; he could not himself be
natural and calm in his presence. When he went in to the sick man, his
eyes and his attention were unconsciously dimmed, and he did not see
and did not distinguish the details of his brother’s position. He smelt
the awful odor, saw the dirt, disorder, and miserable condition, and
heard the groans, and felt that nothing could be done to help. It never
entered his head to analyze the details of the sick man’s situation, to
consider how that body was lying under the quilt, how those emaciated
legs and thighs and spine were lying huddled up, and whether they
could not be made more comfortable, whether anything could not be
done to make things, if not better, at least less bad. It made his blood
run cold when he began to think of all these details. He was absolutely
convinced that nothing could be done to prolong his brother’s life or to
relieve his suffering. But a sense of his regarding all aid as out of the
question was felt by the sick man, and exasperated him. And this
made it still more painful for Levin. To be in the sick-room was agony
to him, not to be there still worse. And he was continually, on various
pretexts, going out of the room, and coming in again, because he was
unable to remain alone.
But Kitty thought, and felt, and acted quite differently. On seeing
the sick man, she pitied him. And pity in her womanly heart did not