22 November 2010. Sun and clouds, intermittent. Rain in the night..
Natasha at top of kitchen stairs--a tortoise shell fur ball--hoping for a clear shot to the back yard...
The other Natasha, by the bedside of Prince Andrei, who "...had once said to her that no one made such a good sick-nurse as an old nurse who knitted stockings..." The ball of yarn slips from her knees, she bends quickly to pick it up...
"He gazed at her without stirring, and saw that after her quick movements she wanted to draw a deep breath, but did not dare to, and breathed with careful restraint..."
* * *
(Constance Garnett translation. The Russian for nurse is nyanya.)
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