Sasha ...

Sasha...." "Can't you keep still ?" I whispered to him, but in the cold I myself was trembling.

The dawn came at last with reluctance, flushing the air with colour, then withdrawing into cold grey clouds, then stealing out once more behind the forest in scattered strips of pale green gold, then suddenly sending up into the heaven a flock of pink clouds like a flight of birds, that spread in extending lines to the horizon, covering at last a sky now faintly blue, with rosy bars.

The flame of the soldiers' fire grew faint, white mists rose in the fields, the cannon in the forest ceased and the birds began.
I sat up on the cart, looked at my sleeping companions, and thought how unpleasant they looked.

Semyonov like a dead man, Andrey Vassilievitch like a happy pig, Trenchard like a child who slept after a scolding.