“Baba Nastya, you should go home,” we would tell her nearer to night time. “What are you, the watchman? What do they pay you for? You are Matron, your time finishes at 1800 hours!” She would not go. She chased us everywhere and shamed us. “Baba Nastya,” we would tell her. “Don't chase everyone, you haven't the strength for it! The future belongs to us if, of course, we live to see it...” But no, she would not agree! “Go home, Baba Nastya,” we would tell her. “Tomorrow you have to get up early, you have to go round the wards and check that they've all gone to sleep in their own beds!” But she would not leave her post. She would mumble that the Metro was closing early, that it did not operate round the clock or maybe till five in the morning. Evidently, at home no-one was waiting for her, or
