“… And you laughed at Troianskii who carried a safety pin in his pocket for more than a month,” Artiom rebuked himself with torturous sorrow. “You should have pinned the pass to your own skin and carried it like that, you idiot.”
“… And I couldn’t have lost it in the sauna, nor next to the sauna,” Artiom went through the previous day again, ready to walk behind his shadow along the entire courtyard, to the edge of the gravesite and back… then he suddenly remembered. He could have dropped the pass when he was hiding in the pile of logs and reaching into his pocket to find the handkerchief that he had never had.
Artiom walked to the wood pile, hurrying and afraid to scare off his luck and his clear premonition, so obvious that you could hide it in the palm of your hand like a coin.
Lookin
