Or other towns, and other figures—such as fresh newspaper lists bring each day.
The nurse rises and crosses herself piously. She mutters:
“O Lord, rest the souls of Thy servants! And give them eternal life!”
Then Sofia Alexandrovna cries out in despair:
“Oh Borya, Borya, my Borya!”
Her face is as pale as though there were not a single drop of blood left under her dull, elastic skin.
Wringing her hands with a convulsive movement, she looks with terror at Elena Kirillovna and at her daughter. Elena Kirillovna turns aside, and, looking at the old nurse, shakes her head reproachfully, while in her eyes, like drops of early evening dew, appear a few scant tears.
Natasha, looking determinedly at her mother, says with pale, quivering lips:
“Mamma, calm yourself.”
Suddenly her voice becomes cold and wooden again as though some evil stranger compelled her each day to utter her words slowly and deliberately.