There was evidently coming over him that revulsion that would

make him look upon death as the goal of his desires, as

happiness. Hitherto each individual desire, aroused by suffering

or privation, such as hunger, fatigue, thirst, had been satisfied

by some bodily function giving pleasure. But now no physical

craving or suffering received relief, and the effort to relieve

them only caused fresh suffering. And so all desires were merged

in one--the desire to be rid of all his sufferings and their

source, the body. But he had no words to express this desire of

deliverance, and so he did not speak of it, and from habit asked

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for the satisfaction of desires which could not now be satisfied.

"Turn me over on the other side," he would say, and immediately

after he would ask to be turned back again as before. "Give me

some broth. Take away the broth. Talk of something: why are you

silent?" And directly they began to talk he would close his eyes,

and would show weariness, indifference, and loathing.

On the tenth day from their arrival at the town, Kitty was

unwell. She suffered from headache and sickness, and she could

not get up all the morning.

The doctor opined that the indisposition arose from fatigue and

excitement, and prescribed rest.

After dinner, however, Kitty got up and went as usual with her

work to the sick man. He looked at her sternly when she came in,

and smiled contemptuously when she said she had been unwell.

That day he was continually blowing his nose, and groaning

piteously.

"How do you feel?" she asked him.

"Worse," he articulated with difficulty. "In pain!"

"In pain, where?"

"Everywhere."

"It will be over today, you will see," said Marya Nikolaevna.

Though it was said in a whisper, the sick man, whose hearing

Levin had noticed was very keen, must have heard. Levin said

hush to her, and looked round at the sick man. Nikolay had

heard; but these words produced no effect on him. His eyes had

still the same intense, reproachful look.

"Why do you think so?" Levin asked her, when she had followed him

into the corridor.

"He has begun picking at himself," said Marya Nikolaevna.

"How do you mean?"

"Like this," she said, tugging at the folds of her woolen skirt.

Levin noticed, indeed, that all that day the patient pulled at

himself, as it were, trying to snatch something away.

Marya Nikolaevna's prediction came true. Towards night the sick

man was not able to lift his hands, and could only gaze before

him with the same intensely concentrated expression in his eyes.

Even when his brother or Kitty bent over him, so that he could

see them, he looked just the same. Kitty sent for the priest to

read the prayer for the dying.




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