Both of them now had only one thought⁠—the illness of Nikolay and the nearness of his death⁠—which stifled all else. But neither of them dared to speak of it, and so whatever they said⁠—not uttering the one thought that filled their minds⁠—was all falsehood. Never had Levin been so glad when the evening was over and it was time to go to bed. Never with any outside person, never on any official visit had he been so unnatural and false as he was that evening. And the consciousness of this unnaturalness, and the remorse he felt at it, made him even more unnatural. He wanted to weep over his dying, dearly loved brother, and he had to listen and keep on talking of how he meant to live.

As the house was damp, and only one bedroom had been kept heated, Levin put his brother to sleep in his own bedroom behind a screen.