It was a sodden February. My grandfather's legs had already grown weak, but a man's living strength remained in him—above all in his hands.

The General liked to drink alone—as they say. Perhaps out of great love for his family, or perhaps out of greed.

Almost everyone had eyes; but had they disappeared, no one would have noticed.

The shortage of black earth did its work on a man—not only in his stomach, but in his head. That was why his holiness stood unshaken.

There remained one more room without a man.

Deryanov had loved the sound of a gunshot since the war. His only regret was that he could not hear it with his whole body.

The dead were buried upright, so they would not take up much room in one grave.

They said he loved his first daughter more than the second. No one thought the difference would be so great.

Mr Vertinsky was a curious man. After every execution, he raised the dead man's eyelid to make sure that life had left him.

Polekhanov had long been tired of his work. Yet whenever they asked him about his trade, he drew himself up and spoke of it with pride.

In old times, pilgrims, curious visitors, gawkers, swindlers, and beggars constantly wandered around the monastery.

Ksenia, like many women, had seen great power in icons. Now she understood that her child had been made in the image and likeness of our Lord.

The town had run short of horses, so they harnessed them one at a time instead of in threes. Everyone knew those horses would not last much longer either.