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  • by: by Atul Gawande - Better - BOOK
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  • Publosher: Profile Books
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  • Add date: 11.01.2016
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Really," said Natasha, "look, look!" "No, it's not he. How can you talk such nonsense?" "Mamma," screamed Natasha, "I'll stake my head it's he. I assure you. Stop, Better - Atul Gawande - BOOK she cried to the coachman. But the coachman could not stop, for from the Meshchanski Street came more carts and carriages, and the Rostovs were being shouted at to move on and not block the way. In fact, however, though now much farther off than before, the Rostovs all saw Pierre- or someone extraordinarily like him- in a coachman's coat, going down the street with head bent and a serious face beside a small, beardless old man who looked like a footman.

That old man noticed a face thrust out of the carriage window gazing at them, and respectfully touching Pierre's elbow said something to him and pointed to the carriage. Pierre, Better - Atul Gawande - BOOK engrossed in thought, could not at first understand him. At length when he had understood and looked in the direction the old man indicated, he recognized Natasha, and following his first impulse stepped instantly and rapidly toward the coach.

But having taken a dozen steps he seemed to remember something and stopped. Natasha's face, leaning out of the window, beamed with quizzical kindliness. "Peter Kirilovich, come here.

We have recognized you. This is wonderful!" she cried, holding out her hand to him. "What are you doing. Why are you like this?" Pierre took her outstretched hand and kissed it awkwardly as he walked along Better - Atul Gawande - BOOK her while the coach still moved on. "What is the matter, Count?" asked the countess in a surprised and commiserating tone.

"What. What. Why. Don't ask me," said Pierre, and looked round at Natasha whose radiant, happy expression- of which he was conscious without looking at her- filled him with enchantment.

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