All at once, a host of memories rose up in Pierre’s mind, all of them instantly interlinked – the look that Platon had given him as he sat there under the tree, the shot they had heard from that very spot, the dog howling, the soldiers’ guilty faces as they ran past, the smoking musket, Karatayev’s absence when they got to the halting-place – and it was just beginning to sink in that Karatayev had been killed
