IX
ALONG THE KIEF ROAD
WHEN on the homeward road from Bobruisk I turned to the right at Dovsk by the refugees' cemetery and came on the Kief highway I broke away from the grey confused river, and it was as if I had wakened after a nightmare.
A clean, free road lay ahead.
I was going round the fugitives.
The whole of Lublin and Lomzha provinces going south.
Formerly I should have said that there were many.
Now, after what I have seen below
Bobruisk it seems as if:
—There were none at all.
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