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- Стр. 452/1273
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"
"
How
so
?
"
asked
Rostóv
.
"
Typhus
,
sir
.
It
's
death
to
go
in
.
Only
we
two
,
Makéev
and
I
"
(
he
pointed
to
the
assistant
)
,
"
keep
on
here
.
Some
five
of
us
doctors
have
died
in
this
place
...
When
a
new
one
comes
he
is
done
for
in
a
week
,
"
said
the
doctor
with
evident
satisfaction
.
"
Prussian
doctors
have
been
invited
here
,
but
our
allies
do
n't
like
it
at
all
.
"
Rostóv
explained
that
he
wanted
to
see
Major
Denísov
of
the
hussars
,
who
was
wounded
.
"
I
do
n't
know
.
I
ca
n't
tell
you
,
sir
.
Only
think
!
I
am
alone
in
charge
of
three
hospitals
with
more
than
four
hundred
patients
!
It
's
well
that
the
charitable
Prussian
ladies
send
us
two
pounds
of
coffee
and
some
lint
each
month
or
we
should
be
lost
!
"
he
laughed
.
"
Four
hundred
,
sir
,
and
they
're
always
sending
me
fresh
ones
.
There
are
four
hundred
?
Eh
?
"
he
asked
,
turning
to
the
assistant
.
The
assistant
looked
fagged
out
.
He
was
evidently
vexed
and
impatient
for
the
talkative
doctor
to
go
.
"
Major
Denísov
,
"
Rostóv
said
again
.
"
He
was
wounded
at
Molliten
.
"
"
Dead
,
I
fancy
.
Eh
,
Makéev
?
"
queried
the
doctor
,
in
a
tone
of
indifference
.
The
assistant
,
however
,
did
not
confirm
the
doctor
's
words
.
"
Is
he
tall
and
with
reddish
hair
?
"
asked
the
doctor
.
