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362 I exist. Since I cannot reach this knowledge, life is impossible," said Levin to himself.

"In the infinitude of time, in the infinitude of matter, in the infinitude of space, an organic cell is formed, exists for a moment, and bursts. That cell is—I."

This was a cruel lie; but it was the sole, the supreme, result of the labor of the human mind for centuries.

It was the final creed on which were founded the latest researches of the scientific spirit; it was the dominant conviction; and Levin, without knowing exactly why, simply because this theory seemed to him the clearest, was involuntarily held by it.

But this conclusion was not merely a lie, it was the cruel jest of some evil spirit,—cruel, inimical, to which it was impossible to submit.

To get away from it was a duty; deliverance from it was in the power of every one, and the one means of deliverance was—death.

And Levin, the happy father of a family, a man in perfect health, was sometimes so tempted to commit suicide, that he hid ropes from sight, lest he should hang himself, and feared to go out with his gun, lest he should shoot himself.

But Levin did not hang himself, or shoot himself, but lived and struggled on.

Levin puzzled over what he was, and why he was born, he found no answer, and fell into despair; but when he ceased to ask himself these questions, he seemed to know what he was and why he was alive, for the very reason that he resolutely and definitely lived and worked; even during the more recent months he had lived far more strenuously and resolutely than ever before.

Toward the end of June he returned to the country and resumed his ordinary work at Pokrovskoye. The superintendence of the estates of his brother and sister, his relations with his neighbors and his muzhiks, his family