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 accomplishing itself within him. And he alone knew of it; all those around him did not or would not understand it, and thought that everything in the world was going on just the same as before. This tortured Ivan Il'ich almost more than anything else. The people at home, principally his wife and daughter, who were in the very thick of their social engagements, did not understand it at all, he could see that, and were quite offended with him for being so glum and exacting, as if he were to be blamed for that. Although they tried to hide it, he could see that he was in their way, but that his wife had forced herself to take up a certain attitude with regard to his complaint, and adhered to it, independently of whatever he might say or do. This attitude of hers was something of this sort: "You know," she would say to her acquaintances, "Ivan Il'ich cannot, like all other good people, strictly adhere to the doctor's prescriptions. To-day he takes his drops and eats what he is ordered to eat, and will lie down a bit; and then to-morrow, if I don't look after him, he will forget to take them; he will eat sturgeon (which is forbidden him), and will sit down to cards for a whole hour."

"When did I?" Ivan Il'ich said angrily at Peter Ivanovich's.

"In the evening with Shebek."

"What does it matter? I cannot sleep for pain."

"Very well; whatever may be done, you will never be cured, and you'll keep on giving us all this