I can overlook and count the wagons.

I really think that here, although prisoners, we are tolerably safe.

But, first of all, allow me to look to your wound: your clothes are much stained with blood." "My weakness proceeds more from over-excitement than loss of blood," replied the merchant, raising himself up.
Anton opened the door, and begged for a surgeon.

Their guard was prepared to go for one, and after an anxious hour had passed, he introduced a shabby-looking individual, who hurriedly produced a razor and a dirty pocket-handkerchief, wiping the razor on his sleeve, and bringing the handkerchief into alarming proximity with Anton's chin.

It was with some difficulty that the reason of his being sent for was conveyed to him.
Anton cut away the sleeve of the coat and shirt, and himself examined the wound.