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and seltzer water, with warm milk at a certain temperature. When the
doctor had gone away the sick man said something to his brother, of
which Levin could distinguish only the last words: “Your Katya.” By
the expression with which he gazed at her, Levin saw that he was
praising her. He called indeed to Katya, as he called her.
“I’m much better already,” he said. “Why, with you I should have
got well long ago. How nice it is!” he took her hand and drew it towards
his lips, but as though afraid she would dislike it he changed his mind,
let it go, and only stroked it. Kitty took his hand in both hers and
pressed it.
“Now turn me over on the left side and go to bed,” he said.
No one could make out what he said but Kitty; she alone under-
stood. She understood because she was all the while mentally keeping
watch on what he needed.
“On the other side,” she said to her husband, “he always sleeps on
that side. Turn him over, it’s so disagreeable calling the servants. I’m
not strong enough. Can you?” she said to Marya Nikolaevna.
“I’m afraid not,” answered Marya Nikolaevna.
Terrible as it was to Levin to put his arms round that terrible body,
to take hold of that under the quilt, of which he preferred to know
nothing, under his wife’s influence he made his resolute face that she
knew so well, and putting his arms into the bed took hold of the body,
but in spite of his own strength he was struck by the strange heaviness
of those powerless limbs. While he was turning him over, conscious of
the huge emaciated arm about his neck, Kitty swiftly and noiselessly
turned the pillow, beat it up and settled in it the sick man’s head,
smoothing back his hair, which was sticking again to his moist brow.
The sick man kept his brother’s hand in his own. Levin felt that he
meant to do something with his hand and was pulling it somewhere.
Levin yielded with a sinking heart: yes, he drew it to his mouth and
kissed it. Levin, shaking with sobs and unable to articulate a word,
went out of the room.