BOOK ELEVEN: 1812
33. CHAPTER XXXIII
 (continued)
And a minute or two later the Frenchman, a black-eyed fellow with
 a spot on his cheek, in shirt sleeves, really did jump out of a window
 on the ground floor, and clapping Pierre on the shoulder ran with
 him into the garden. 
"Hurry up, you others!" he called out to his comrades. "It's getting
 hot." 
When they reached a gravel path behind the house the Frenchman
 pulled Pierre by the arm and pointed to a round, graveled space
 where a three-year-old girl in a pink dress was lying under a seat. 
"There is your child! Oh, a girl, so much the better!" said the
 Frenchman. "Good-by, Fatty. We must be human, we are all mortal you
 know!" and the Frenchman with the spot on his cheek ran back to his
 comrades. 
Breathless with joy, Pierre ran to the little girl and was going
 to take her in his arms. But seeing a stranger the sickly,
 scrofulous-looking child, unattractively like her mother, began to
 yell and run away. Pierre, however, seized her and lifted her in his
 arms. She screamed desperately and angrily and tried with her little
 hands to pull Pierre's hands away and to bite them with her slobbering
 mouth. Pierre was seized by a sense of horror and repulsion such as he
 had experienced when touching some nasty little animal. But he made an
 effort not to throw the child down and ran with her to the large
 house. It was now, however, impossible to get back the way he had
 come; the maid, Aniska, was no longer there, and Pierre with a feeling
 of pity and disgust pressed the wet, painfully sobbing child to
 himself as tenderly as he could and ran with her through the garden
 seeking another way out. 
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