It
is wrong of me. But I can't either eat or sleep with such a job hanging
over me."
That police captain, a native of Great Russia, had been for many years
serving in the district.
My uncle unfolded and read the document. It was a service order issued
from the Governor-General's secretariat, dealing with the matter of the
petition and directing the police captain to disregard all remonstrances
and explanations in regard to that illness either from medical men or
others, "and if she has not left her brother's house"--it went on to
say--"on the morning of the day specified on her permit, you are
to despatch her at once under escort, direct" (underlined) "to the
prison-hospital in Kiev, where she will be treated as her case demands."
"For God's sake, Mr. B., see that your sister goes away punctually on
that day. Don't give me this work to do with a woman--and with one of
your family, too. I simply cannot bear to think of it."
He was absolutely wringing his hands. My uncle looked at him in silence.
"Thank you for this warning. I assure you that even if she were dying
she would be carried out to the carriage."
"Yes--indeed--and what difference would it make--travel to Kiev or back
to her husband? For she would have to go--death or no death.
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