But still the minutes passed by and the hours, and still hours more, and his misery and horror grew and were more and more intense.

All the ordinary conditions of life, without which one can form no conception of anything, had ceased to exist for Levin.

He lost all sense of time.

Minutes--those minutes when she sent for him and he held her moist hand, that would squeeze his hand with extraordinary violence and then push it away--seemed to him hours, and hours seemed to him minutes.