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There was a masculine odor and a smell of tobacco. "Hallo, Gwiska my pipe!" came Vasili Denisov's husky voice. "Wostov, get up!" Rostov, rubbing his eyes that seemed glued together, raised his disheveled head from the hot pillow. "Why, is it late?" "Late! It's nearly ten o'clock," answered Natasha's voice.
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