fered so, that it became too distressing to him to look at him, and he left him to the care of his Aunt. And when the dog's feeble, helpless moan penetrated through the wall, he stuffed his fingers into his ears, and was surprised at the extent of his love for this poor dog.
In the evening he went out. Before doing so he gave a look in at the kitchen. His Aunt was on her knees stroking the hot, trembling head with her dry hand.
With his legs stretched out like sticks, the dog lay heavy and motionless, and only by putting one's ear down close to his muzzle could one catch the low, frequent moans.
His eyes, now quite grey, fixed themselves on his master as he came in, and when he carefully passed his hand over the dog's forehead, his groans became clearer and more piteous.
"What, laddie, are you so bad? But wait a bit, when you are well I will buy you some liver."
"I'll make him eat soup!" jokingly threatened the Aunt.
The dog closed his eyes, and Vladimir Mikhailovich with a forced joke went out in haste; and when he got into the street he hired a cab, since he was afraid of being late at the rendezvous with Natalya Lavrentyevna.
That autumn's evening the air was so fresh and pure, and so many stars twinkled in the dark sky! They kept falling, leaving behind them a fiery track, and burst kindling with a bluish light
