Artiom suddenly remembered and squinted from the pain in his chest — he had put his own personal clothing in the bundle where he had put the uniforms of all the rest, and now the soldier had carried it all to Eichmanis. When was this all going to end already!?
He ran to the window — maybe that Petro was still standing in the yard? But of course not. Bear the deer was shifting from one leg to another in the place where Petro was.
The day had long passed; the white evening of Solovki had crawled in.
“What’s the matter, my friend?” asked Vasilii Petrovich, worried. “Why are you darting about like Chatskii?”
Artiom turned and looked at Vasilii Petrovich for a short time, saying nothing.
“To hell with him anyway!” he decided aloud, waving his hand.
“They might execute you tomorrow,” Artio
