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 sentences into simple language, and read into them an answer to the question: Am I in a bad way — a very bad way — or is it nothing after all? And it seemed to him that the meaning of all that the doctor had said was that he was in a bad way. Everything in the streets struck Ivan Il'ich as miserable. The coachmen were miserable, the houses were miserable, the passengers and the shops were miserable. This pain — this dull, dumb pain, never ceasing for an instant, seemed, taken in connection with the enigmatical words of the doctor, to have acquired a fresh and far more serious significance. And Ivan Il'ich now listened to it with a new and heavy feeling.

He got home, and told his wife all about it. His wife listened, but in the middle of their conversation his daughter came in with her hat on; she had arranged to go out with her mother. With an effort she prevailed upon herself to sit down and listen to this tiresome affair, but did not stay long, and her mother even did not hear it to the end.

"Well, I'm very glad," said his wife, "that now you will take medicine regularly. Give me the prescription, I'll send Gerasim to the chemist" And she went away to dress.

He scarce breathed so long as she was there, but when she went out he drew a deep sigh.

"Well," said he to himself, "possibly it's nothing yet, after all."

He began to take the medicine, and followed the directions of the doctor, which were modified in consequence of the examination of the urine. But, on one occasion, it so happened that during this