her on the back so that she was left for dead until the evening."
"Well, did she get over it?"
"She did get over it, but she is ailing now. Although, of course, she has been sickly since her birth."
"What, are you sick?" Nekhlyúdov asked the old woman, who continued to stand in the door, and began to groan the moment her husband spoke of her.
"Something catches right in here, that's all," she answered, pointing to her dirty, emaciated bosom.
"Again!" angrily exclaimed the young master, shrugging his shoulders. "There you are, sick, and you did not come to the hospital. That is what the hospital was made for. Have you not been told of it?"
"They told us, benefactor, but we have had no time: there is the manorial work, and the house, and the children, — I am all alone! There is nobody to help me —"
