moment those hands with their short reddish fingers and hairy wrists, which held him in their power. … The ten fell to him.
“You owe forty-three thousand, Count,” said Dólokhov, and stretching himself he rose from the table. “One does get tired sitting so long,” he added.
“Yes, I’m tired too,” said Rostóv.
Dólokhov cut him short, as if to remind him that it was not for him to jest.
“When am I to receive the money, Count?”
Rostóv, flushing, drew Dólokhov into the next room.
“I cannot pay it all immediately. Will you take an I.O.U. ?” he said.
“I say, Rostóv,” said Dólokhov clearly, smiling and looking Nikoláy straight in the eyes, “you know the saying, ‘Lucky in love, unlucky at cards.’ Your cousin is in love with you, I know.”
“Oh, it’s terrible to feel oneself