Putting the wounded man
on the sofa, she deftly unbound his head, giving orders and screwing
up her eyes from the smoke of her cigarette.
"Ivan Danilovich!" she called out. "He's been brought here. You
are tired, Nilovna. You've had enough fright, haven't, you? Well,
rest now. Nikolay, quick, give Nilovna some tea and a glass of port."
Dizzied by her experience, the mother breathing heavily and feeling
a sickly pricking in her breast, said: "Don't bother about me."
But her entire anxious being begged for attention and kindnesses.
From the next room entered Nikolay with a bandaged hand, and the
doctor, Ivan Danilovich, all disheveled, his hair standing on end
like the spines of a hedgehog. He quickly stepped to Ivan, bent
over him, and said:
"Water, Sofya Ivanovich, more water, clean linen strips, and cotton."
The mother walked toward the kitchen; but Nikolay took her by the
arm with his left hand, and led her into the dining room.
"He didn't speak to you; he was speaking to Sofya. You've had
enough suffering, my dear woman, haven't you?"
The mother met Nikolay's fixed, sympathetic glance, and, pressing
his head, exclaimed with a groan she could not restrain:
"Oh, my darling, how fearful it was! They mowed the comrades down!
They mowed them down!"
"I saw it," said Nikolay, giving her a glass of wine, and nodding
his head.
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