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- Стр. 230/1273
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"
Captain
,
for
God
's
sake
!
I
've
hurt
my
arm
,
"
he
said
timidly
.
"
For
God
's
sake
...
I
ca
n't
walk
.
For
God
's
sake
!
"
It
was
plain
that
this
cadet
had
already
repeatedly
asked
for
a
lift
and
been
refused
.
He
asked
in
a
hesitating
,
piteous
voice
.
"
Tell
them
to
give
me
a
seat
,
for
God
's
sake
!
"
"
Give
him
a
seat
,
"
said
Túshin
.
"
Lay
a
cloak
for
him
to
sit
on
,
lad
,
"
he
said
,
addressing
his
favorite
soldier
.
"
And
where
is
the
wounded
officer
?
"
"
He
has
been
set
down
.
He
died
,
"
replied
someone
.
"
Help
him
up
.
Sit
down
,
dear
fellow
,
sit
down
!
Spread
out
the
cloak
,
Antónov
.
"
The
cadet
was
Rostóv
.
With
one
hand
he
supported
the
other
;
he
was
pale
and
his
jaw
trembled
,
shivering
feverishly
.
He
was
placed
on
"
Matvévna
,
"
the
gun
from
which
they
had
removed
the
dead
officer
.
The
cloak
they
spread
under
him
was
wet
with
blood
which
stained
his
breeches
and
arm
.
"
What
,
are
you
wounded
,
my
lad
?
"
said
Túshin
,
approaching
the
gun
on
which
Rostóv
sat
.
"
No
,
it
's
a
sprain
.
"
"
Then
what
is
this
blood
on
the
gun
carriage
?
"
inquired
Túshin
.
