“No, we can’t. We shall only kill the horse. Why, the poor beast is not himself now,” said Nikíta, pointing to the horse, which was standing submissively waiting for what might come, with his steep wet sides heaving heavily. “We shall have to stay the night here,” he said, as if preparing to spend the night at an inn, and he proceeded to unfasten the collar-straps. The buckles came undone.
“But shan’t we be frozen?” remarked Vasíli Andréevich.
“Well, if we are we can’t help it,” said Nikíta.