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 tall bony figure which he knew so well. But even now, when there seemed to be no possibility of deception, he still hoped that he was mistaken, and that this tall man who was divesting himself of his shuba, and coughing, was not his brother Nikolaï.

Levin loved his brother, but it was always extremely disagreeable to live with him. Now especially, when Levin was under the influence of the thoughts and suggestions awakened by Agafya Mikhaïlovna, and was in a dull and melancholy humor, the presence of his brother was indeed an affliction. Instead of a gay, healthy visitor,—some stranger, who, he hoped, would drive away his perplexities,—he was obliged to receive his brother, who knew him through and through, who could read his most secret thoughts, and who would oblige him to share them with him. And this he did not like to do.

Angry with himself for his unworthy sentiments, Levin ran down into the vestibule; and, as soon as he saw his brother close at hand, the feeling of personal discomfort instantly disappeared, and was succeeded by a feeling of pity. Terrible as his brother Nikolaï had been when he saw him before by reason of his emaciation and illness, he was now still more emaciated, still more feeble. He was like a skeleton covered with skin.

He was standing in the vestibule stretching out his long, thin neck and unwinding a scarf from it; and he smiled with a strange melancholy smile. When Levin saw his brother's humble and pitiful smile, he felt a choking sensation.

"Well! I have come to you," said Nikolaï, in a thick voice, and not for a second taking his eyes from his brother's face, "I have been wanting to come for a long time yes, I have, but I have been so ill. Now I am very much better," he added, rubbing his beard with his great bony hand.

"Yes, yes," replied Levin; and it was still more terrible to him when, as he touched his brother's shriveled cheeks with his lips, he felt his fever flush, and saw the gleam of his great, strangely brilliant eyes.