Ivanovitch went out.

"Well, thanks," repeated Bazarov. "This is royally done. Monarchs,
they say, visit the dying too."

"Yevgeny Vassilyitch, I hope--"

"Ah, Anna Sergyevna, let us speak the truth. It's all over with me.
I'm under the wheel. So it turns out that it was useless to think of
the future. Death's an old joke, but it comes fresh to every one. So
far I'm not afraid--but there, senselessness is coming, and then it's
all up!" he waved his hand feebly. "Well, what had I to say to you? I
loved you! There was no sense in that even before, and less than ever
now. Love is a form, and my own form is already breaking up. Better
say how lovely you are! And now here you stand, so beautiful--" Anna
Sergyevna gave an involuntary shudder. "Never mind, don't be uneasy.
Sit down there. Don't come close to me: you know my illness is
catching."

Anna Sergyevna swiftly crossed the room, and sat down in the armchair
near the sofa on which Bazarov was lying.

"Noble-hearted!" he whispered. "Oh, how near, and how young, and
fresh, and pure--in this loathsome room! Well, good-by! live
long--that's the best of all--and make the most of it while there is
time. You see what a hideous spectacle: the worm half-crusht, but
writhing still. And you see, I thought too, I'd break down so many
things: I wouldn't die--why should I!--there were problems to solve,
and I was a giant! And now all the problem for the giant is how to die
decently--tho that makes no difference. Never mind: I'm not going to
turn tail."

Bazarov was silent, and began feeling with his hand for the glass.
Anna Sergyevna gave him some drink: not taking off her glove, and
drawing her breath timorously.

"You will forget me," he began again: "the dead's no companion for the
living. My father will tell you what a man Russia is losing. That's
nonsense, but don't contradict the old man. Whatever toy will comfort
the child--you know. And be kind to mother. People like them aren't to
be found in your great world if you look by daylight with a candle. I
was needed by Russia. No, it's clear, I wasn't needed. And who is
needed? The shoemaker's needed, the tailor's needed, the
butcher--gives us meat--the butcher--wait a little, I'm getting mixt.
There's a forest here--"

Bazarov put his hand to his brow.

Anna Sergyevna bent down to him. "Yevgeny Vassilyitch, I am here--"

He at once took his hand away, and raised himself.

"Good-by," he said with sudden force, and h