Page 361 - war-and-peace

nizingly, incessantly pulling and pressing his arm and always
dragging it in one direction. He tried to get away from them,
but they would not for an instant let his shoulder move a
hair’s breadth. It would not acheit would be wellif only they
did not pull it, but it was immpossible to get rid of them.
He opened his eyes and looked up. The black canopy of
night hung less than a yard above the glow of the charcoal.
Flakes of falling snow were fluttering in that light. Tushin
had not returned, the doctor had not come. He was alone
now, except for a soldier who was sitting naked at the other
side of the fire, warming his thin yellow body.
‘Nobody wants me!’ thought Rostov. ‘There is no one to
help me or pity me. Yet I was once at home, strong, happy,
and loved.’ He sighed and, doing so, groaned involuntarily.
‘Eh, is anything hurting you?’ asked the soldier, shaking
his shirt out over the fire, and not waiting for an answer he
gave a grunt and added: ‘What a lot of men have been crip-
pled todayfrightful!’
Rostov did not listen to the soldier. He looked at the
snowflakes fluttering above the fire and remembered a Rus-
sian winter at his warm, bright home, his fluffy fur coat, his
quickly gliding sleigh, his healthy body, and all the affec-
tion and care of his family. ‘And why did I come here?’ he
wondered.
Next day the French army did not renew their attack,
and the remnant of Bagration’s detachment was reunited to
Kutuzov’s army.

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