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Updated: June 24, 2025
I'll do it.... Bring a bottle!" "Let him do it, let him do it," said Dolokhov, smiling. "What next? Have you gone mad?... No one would let you!... Why, you go giddy even on a staircase," exclaimed several voices. "I'll drink it! Let's have a bottle of rum!" shouted Pierre, banging the table with a determined and drunken gesture and preparing to climb out of the window.
Get on!" when it was impossible to go any faster. He liked giving a painful lash on the neck to some peasant who, more dead than alive, was already hurrying out of his way. "Real gentlemen!" he considered them. Anatole and Dolokhov liked Balaga too for his masterly driving and because he liked the things they liked.
Pierre absolutely disbelieved both the princess' hints and the letter, but he feared now to look at Dolokhov, who was sitting opposite him. Every time he chanced to meet Dolokhov's handsome insolent eyes, Pierre felt something terrible and monstrous rising in his soul and turned quickly away.
"Well then, till tomorrow at Sokolniki," said Dolokhov, as he took leave of Rostov in the Club porch. "And do you feel quite calm?" Rostov asked. Dolokhov paused. "Well, you see, I'll tell you the whole secret of dueling in two words.
Then he told him all he knew of the French detachment. "That's so. But we must know what troops they are and their numbers," said Dolokhov. "It will be necessary to go there. We can't start the affair without knowing for certain how many there are. I like to work accurately. Here now wouldn't one of these gentlemen like to ride over to the French camp with me? I have brought a spare uniform."
'Everyone fears a bear, he says, 'but when you see one your fear's all gone, and your only thought is not to let him get away! And that's how it is with me. A demain, mon cher." * * Till tomorrow, my dear fellow. Next day, at eight in the morning, Pierre and Nesvitski drove to the Sokolniki forest and found Dolokhov, Denisov, and Rostov already there.
A volley was heard, and some bullets whistled past, while others plashed against something. The Cossacks and Dolokhov galloped after Petya into the gateway of the courtyard. In the dense wavering smoke some of the French threw down their arms and ran out of the bushes to meet the Cossacks, while others ran down the hill toward the pond.
"So you are not afraid to play with me?" repeated Dolokhov, and as if about to tell a good story he put down the cards, leaned back in his chair, and began deliberately with a smile: "Yes, gentlemen, I've been told there's a rumor going about Moscow that I'm a sharper, so I advise you to be careful." "Come now, deal!" exclaimed Rostov.
Rostov went on ahead to do what was asked, and to his great surprise learned that Dolokhov the brawler, Dolokhov the bully, lived in Moscow with an old mother and a hunchback sister, and was the most affectionate of sons and brothers. Pierre had of late rarely seen his wife alone. Both in Petersburg and in Moscow their house was always full of visitors.
"First-rate," said Pierre, looking at Dolokhov, who with a bottle of rum in his hand was approaching the window, from which the light of the sky, the dawn merging with the afterglow of sunset, was visible. Dolokhov, the bottle of rum still in his hand, jumped onto the window sill. "Listen!" cried he, standing there and addressing those in the room. All were silent.
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