Chapter 8

           

           TowardtheendofthebattleofBorodinó,Pierre,havingrundownfromRaévski’sbatteryasecondtime,madehiswaythroughagullytoKnyazkóvowithacrowdofsoldiers,reachedthedressingstation,andseeingbloodandhearingcriesandgroanshurriedon,stillentangledinthecrowdsofsoldiers.

           Theonethinghenowdesiredwithhiswholesoulwastogetawayquicklyfromtheterriblesensationsamidwhichhehadlivedthatdayandreturntoordinaryconditionsoflifeandsleepquietlyinaroominhisownbed.Hefeltthatonlyintheordinaryconditionsoflifewouldhebeabletounderstandhimselfandallhehadseenandfelt.Butsuchordinaryconditionsoflifewerenowheretobefound.

           Thoughshellsandbulletsdidnotwhistleovertheroadalongwhichhewasgoing,stillonallsidestherewaswhattherehadbeenonthefieldofbattle.Therewerestillthesamesuffering,exhausted,andsometimesstrangelyindifferentfaces,thesameblood,thesamesoldiers’overcoats,thesamesoundsoffiringwhich,thoughdistantnow,stillarousedterror,andbesidesthistherewerethefoulairandthedust.

           HavinggoneacoupleofmilesalongtheMozháyskroad,Pierresatdownbytheroadside.

           Duskhadfallen,andtheroarofgunsdiedaway.Pierrelayleaningonhiselbowforalongtime,gazingattheshadowsthatmovedpasthiminthedarkness.Hewascontinuallyimaginingthatacannonballwasflyingtowardhimwithaterrificwhizz,andthenheshudderedandsatup.Hehadnoideahowlonghehadbeenthere.

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