Война и мир

Chapter 8

           Thehussarsdidnotlookround,butatthesoundofeachshot,asatthewordofcommand,thewholesquadronwithitsrowsoffacessoalikeyetsodifferent,holdingitsbreathwhiletheballflewpast,roseinthestirrupsandsankbackagain.Thesoldierswithoutturningtheirheadsglancedatoneanother,curioustoseetheircomrades’impression.Everyface,fromDenísov’stothatofthebugler,showedonecommonexpressionofconflict,irritation,andexcitement,aroundchinandmouth.Thequartermasterfrowned,lookingatthesoldiersasifthreateningtopunishthem.CadetMirónovduckedeverytimeaballflewpast.Rostóvontheleftflank,mountedonhisRook—ahandsomehorsedespiteitsgameleg—hadthehappyairofaschoolboycalledupbeforealargeaudienceforanexaminationinwhichhefeelssurehewilldistinguishhimself.Hewasglancingateveryonewithaclear,brightexpression,asifaskingthemtonoticehowcalmlyhesatunderfire.Butdespitehimself,onhisfacetoothatsameindicationofsomethingnewandsternshowedroundthemouth.

           “Who’sthatcurtseyingthere?CadetMiwónov!That’snotwight!Lookatme,”criedDenísovwho,unabletokeepstillononespot,keptturninghishorseinfrontofthesquadron.

           Theblack,hairy,snub-nosedfaceofVáskaDenísov,andhiswholeshortsturdyfigurewiththesinewyhairyhandandstumpyfingersinwhichheheldthehiltofhisnakedsaber,lookedjustasitusuallydid,especiallytowardeveningwhenhehademptiedhissecondbottle;hewasonlyredderthanusual.

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