I felt a touch on my arm
and found Andrey Vassilievitch standing in the middle of the road. His
face, staring at me as though I were a stranger, expressed desperate
determination.
"Come on," I said. "We've no time to waste."
"I'm not coming," he whispered back. His voice was breathless as
though he had been running.
"Nonsense," I answered roughly, and I put my hand on his arm. His body
trembled in jerks and starts.
"It's madness ... this road ... the moon.... Of course they'll
fire.... We'll all be killed. But it isn't ... it isn't ... I can't
move...."
"You _must_ move.... Come, Andrey Vassilievitch, you've been brave
enough all day. There's no danger, I tell you. See how quiet
everything is. You _must_...."
"I can't.... It's nothing ... nothing to do with me.... It's awful all
day--and now this!"
I thought of Marie Ivanovna early in the morning. I looked down the
road and saw that the wagons were slowly moving into the distant
shadows.
"You _must_ come," I repeated.
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