" I wrote that I knew
some people were working to save them. My letter, I thought, would
brace them up and would give them an idea that there was, amongst
these beasts--one, that would not be an enemy. In case of a struggle
this idea would keep them from losing hope and their power of
resistance. Then I added that I could be found in the hotel, and that
Dr. Botkin knew me.
Contemplating my scratchings, I went over to the window; somebody was
patiently waiting and looking around, for the voice said:
"I am so glad Derevenko slapped this awful man."
"I am too, your Highness. Now--there is a letter. I'll put it on the
bayonette and stay still; you take it."
Pashinsky passed near me talking with another Red. He felt badly I am
sure,--he did not look at me.
I rolled the piece of paper, stuck it on the edge of the sharp
bayonette and putting the rifle on my shoulder, directed it towards
the window. I felt when it was taken. Then I joined my fellow jailers.
48
Today I saw a man who resembled strikingly the Tumen Russian of the
profane language. And it reminded me very much of the Ls., of the
English officer, of the fellow with dark eyeglasses--and of Lucie. I
felt abandoned again. So I went to the Church, but then turned back:
I cannot go in, for it might spoil my reputation of a Red. However, I
stood for a bit near the doors and listened to the singers, and then
decided to go to the Catholic church, for only Russian Reds must not
pray; Polish Reds happen to have this privilege.
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