Emma Watson Pussy
War And Peace 669


Banned Celebs






Emma Watson Pussy



Books:

Anna Karenina


War And Peace



face curiosity as to how he would speak of his wife, "but her death shocked me terribly. When two people quarrel they are always both in fault, and ones own guilt suddenly becomes terribly serious when the other is no longer alive. And then such a death... without friends and without consolation! I am very, very sorry for her," he concluded, and was pleased to notice a look of glad approval on Natashas face. "Yes, and so you are once more an eligible bachelor," said Princess Mary. Pierre suddenly flushed crimson and for a long time tried not to look at Natasha. When he ventured to glance her way again her face was cold, stern, and he fancied even contemptuous. "And did you really see and speak to Napoleon, as we have been told?" said Princess Mary. Pierre laughed. "No, not once! Everybody seems to imagine that being taken prisoner means being Napoleons guest. Not only did I never see him but I heard nothing about him--I was in much lower company!" Supper was over, and Pierre who at first declined to speak about his captivity was gradually led on to do so. "But its true that you remained in Moscow to kill Napoleon?" Natasha asked with a slight smile. "I guessed it then when we met at the Sukharev tower, do you remember?" Pierre admitted that it was true, and from that was gradually led by Princess Marys questions and especially by Natashas into giving a detailed account of his adventures. At first he spoke with the amused and mild irony now customary with him toward everybody and especially toward himself, but when he came to describe the horrors and sufferings he had witnessed he was unconsciously carried away and began speaking with the suppressed emotion of a man re-experiencing in recollection strong impressions he has lived through. Princess Mary with a gentle smile looked now at Pierre and now at Natasha. In the whole narrative she saw only Pierre and his goodness. Natasha, leaning on her elbow, the expression of her face constantly changing with the narrative, watched Pierre with an attention that never wandered--evidently herself experiencing all that he described. Not only her look, but her exclamations and the brief questions she put, showed Pierre that she understood just what he wished to convey. It was clear that she understood not only what he said but also what he wished to, but could not, express in words. The account Pierre gave of the incident with the child and the woman for protecting whom he was arrested was this: "It was an awful sight--children abandoned, some in the flames... One was snatched out before my eyes... and there were women who had their things snatched off and their earrings torn out..." he flushed and grew confused. "Then a patrol arrived and all the men--all those who were not looting, that is--were arrested, and I among them." "I am sure youre not telling us everything; I am sure you did something..." said Natasha and pausing added, "something fine?" Pierre continued. When he spoke of the execution he wanted to pass over the horrible details, but Natasha insisted that he should not omit anything. Pierre began to tell about Karataev, but paused. By this time he had risen from the table and was pacing the room, Natasha following him with her eyes. Then he added: "No, you cant understand what I learned from that illiterate man--that simple fellow." "Yes, yes, go on!" said Natasha. "Where is he?" "They killed him almost before my eyes." And Pierre, his voice trembling continually, went on to tell of the last days of their retreat, of Karataevs illness and his death. He told of his adventures as he had never yet recalled them. He now, as it were, saw a new meaning in all he had gone through. Now that he was telling it all to Natasha he experienced that pleasure which a man has when women listen to him--not clever women who when listening either try to remember what they hear to enrich their minds and when opportunity offers to retell it, or who wish to adopt it to some thought of their own and promptly contribute their own clever comments prepared in their little mental workshop--but the pleasure given by real women gifted with a capacity to select and absorb the very best a man shows of himself. Natasha without knowing it was all attention: she did not lose a word, no single quiver in Pierres voice, no look, no twitch of a muscle in his face, nor a single gesture. She caught the unfinished word

War And Peace page 668        War And Peace page 670