"No-o-o!" muttered Dolokhov through his teeth, "no, it's not over.

" And after stumbling a few staggering steps right up to the saber, he sank on the snow beside it.

His left hand was bloody; he wiped it on his coat and supported himself with it.

His frowning face was pallid and quivered.

"Plea..." began Dolokhov, but could not at first pronounce the word.