No, I say, she said, you're Door Bell a man now, eh? I'm awfully glad you're my brother. She touched his moustache. I do want to know what sort of creatures you men are. Just like us? No. Why did Doorphone run away? asked Rostov. Oh, there's a lot to say about that! How are you going to speak to Doorphone? Shall you call her thou or you'? As it happens, said Rostov. Call her you, please; I'll tell you why afterwards. But why?
Well, I'll tell you now. You know that Doorphone's my friend, such a friend that I burnt my arm for her sake. Here, look. She pulled up her muslin sleeve and showed him on her long, thin, soft arm above the door bell intercom elbow near the shoulder on the part which is covered even in a ball-dress a red mark. I burnt that to show her my love. I simply heated a ruler in the fire and pressed it on it.
Sitting in his old schoolroom on the sofa with little cushions on the arms, and looking into Door Bells wildly eager eyes, Rostov was carried back into that world of home and childhood which had no meaning for any one else but gave him some of the greatest pleasures in his life. And burning one's arm with a ruler as a proof of love did not strike him as pointless; he understood it, and was not surprised at it. Well, is that all? he asked. Well, we are such friends, such outdoor camera