tandem, but the exertion accomplished naught.

At last, the captain said: 'It will do no good to beat him, comrade. He's expired.'

The proclamation sent the window into despair; she fell to the deceased's side, gripped his limp left hand and wailed.

'How can it be?' the cousin sobbed. 'What compelled this tragedy?'

'I believe he choked on his meal,' the captain said.

A physician from the hamlet of R—— was disturbed, but his examination confirmed the captain's unlettered diagnosis. Death by obstruction...my, what a banal way to exit the world. The funeral was held in St. Petersburg, but a procession of provincials traveled in a large caravan to attend. It was reported the Tsar whimpered throughout the consecration. Not since the death of his daughter Alexandra three years prior had Nicholas mournedlanky finger at the editor and hissed: 'Your scrap isn't helping matters. The radical melodrama you've manufactured reeks of journalistic mendacities. Lies have consequences, sir! Hear me now: Bykal will make an example of me!'

'Vladimir, you sound like a paranoid,' Medvelov tutted. 'Have a dash and relax.'

'What I gave for my country,' The Major griped as he folded his spectacles. 'To be treated like a criminal...it's not just.'

Medvelov scooted his chair closer to the old solider and whispered: 'Why would anyone treat you like a criminal?'

Lowering his head, The Major stammered, 'I-I...I've done something...rash.'

'Rash?' asked Nekabov.

'Bykal will do terrible things to me,' The Major whined. 'Things more horrible than what I witnessed during combat.'

Comrade, the sight of hisself...the ancient warrior trussed in polished flair...sputtering gibberish to my floorboards...

I