Sarudine slowly staggered to his feet. Faint, incoherent words escaped
from his quivering, swollen lips, vague words of menace that to Sanine
sounded singularly ridiculous. The whole left side of Sarudine's face
had instantly became swollen. His eye was no longer visible; blood was
flowing from his nose and mouth, his lips twitched, and his whole body
shook as if in the grip of a fever. Of the smart, handsome officer
nothing remained. That awful blow had robbed him of all that was human;
it had left only something piteous, terrifying, disfigured. He made no
attempt to go away nor to defend himself. His teeth rattled, and, while
he spat blood, he mechanically brushed the sand from his knees. Then,
reeling forward, he fell down again.
"Oh! how horrible! How horrible!" exclaimed Sina Karsavina, hurrying
away from the spot.
"Come along!" said Sanine to Ivanoff, looking upwards to avoid so
revolting a sight.
"Come along, Soloveitchik."
But Soloveitchik did not stir. Wide-eyed he stared at Sarudine, at the
blood, and the dirty sand on the snow-white tunic, trembling all the
while, as his lips moved feebly.
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