"Why? It is better to die fighting. I will strike a blow, they strike back, and I shall die without noticing it."
"No, it is not necessary," said Werner. And he turned to Yanson:
"Why don't you smoke?"
Yanson's dried-up face wrinkled pitifully, as if someone had pulled the threads that moved the creases in his face. As in a nightmare, Yanson sobbed in a colorless voice, shedding no tears:
"I can't smoke. Ah! Ah! Ah! I must not be hanged. Ah! Ah! Ah!"
Everybody turned toward him. Tanya, weeping copiously, stroked his arms and readjusted his fur cap.
"My dear, my friend, don't cry, my friend! My poor friend!"
Suddenly the cars bumped into one another and began to slow up. The prisoners rose, but immediately sat down again.
"Here we are," said Sergey.
It was as if all the air had suddenly been pumped out of the car. It became difficult to breathe. Their swollen hearts became heavy in their breasts, rose to their throats, beat desperately and their blood, in its terror, seemed to revolt. Their eyes looked at the trembling floor, their ears listened to the slowly-turning wheels, which began to turn more slowly still, and gently stopped.
The train halted.
The prisoners were plunged into a strange stupor. They did not suffer. They seemed to live an unconscious life.
