BOOK TWO: 1805
7. CHAPTER VII
 (continued)
The crowd moved on again. Nesvitski realized that it was a cannon
 ball. 
"Hey, Cossack, my horse!" he said. "Now, then, you there! get out of
 the way! Make way!" 
With great difficulty he managed to get to his horse, and shouting
 continually he moved on. The soldiers squeezed themselves to make
 way for him, but again pressed on him so that they jammed his leg, and
 those nearest him were not to blame for they were themselves pressed
 still harder from behind. 
"Nesvitski, Nesvitski! you numskull!" came a hoarse voice from
 behind him. 
Nesvitski looked round and saw, some fifteen paces away but
 separated by the living mass of moving infantry, Vaska Denisov, red
 and shaggy, with his cap on the back of his black head and a cloak
 hanging jauntily over his shoulder. 
"Tell these devils, these fiends, to let me pass!" shouted Denisov
 evidently in a fit of rage, his coal-black eyes with their bloodshot
 whites glittering and rolling as he waved his sheathed saber in a
 small bare hand as red as his face. 
"Ah, Vaska!" joyfully replied Nesvitski. "What's up with you?" 
"The squadwon can't pass," shouted Vaska Denisov, showing his
 white teeth fiercely and spurring his black thoroughbred Arab, which
 twitched its ears as the bayonets touched it, and snorted, spurting
 white foam from his bit, tramping the planks of the bridge with his
 hoofs, and apparently ready to jump over the railings had his rider
 let him. "What is this? They're like sheep! Just like sheep! Out of
 the way!... Let us pass!... Stop there, you devil with the cart!
 I'll hack you with my saber!" he shouted, actually drawing his saber
 from its scabbard and flourishing it 
The soldiers crowded against one another with terrified faces, and
 Denisov joined Nesvitski. 
"How's it you're not drunk today?" said Nesvitski when the other had
 ridden up to him. 
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