Kitty makes the sickroom habitable

Levin cannot look at his brother calmly; he smells the air, sees the dirt, hears the groans, and it never occurs to him to wonder how the limbs are lying or whether anything could be made more tolerable, because he is certain nothing can help — a conviction the sick man feels and resents. Kitty's pity produces the opposite: a need to act. She sends for a doctor and to the chemist, sets her maid and Mary Nikolavna sweeping and washing, fetches sheets and shirts herself, and gives the cross waiter orders it is impossible to disobey. Levin disapproves and fears his brother's anger; Nicholas is only ashamed, and then interested. When the clean shirt defeats the others she says 'I'm not looking' and guides the arm in. Levin returns to vinegar and scent, a mat by the bed, folded linen, and his brother washed and brushed between clean sheets, watching her with a new look of hope. Told to turn him, Levin puts his arms round the body he did not wish to remember — and Nicholas draws his hand to his lips and kisses it.

The answer to death that Levin has been seeking since Part Three turns out to be sheets, vinegar and a pillow beaten at the right moment, and it is delivered by a woman who has been at it an hour. Tolstoy states the difference exactly: the details that horrify him arrest her. Nothing is cured; the room is merely made bearable, and the kissed hand is what that buys.