To speak the truth, no one
Is very greatly troubled.

But if any one asks ...

Well, whoever may ask,
Tell them that through the breast
I was shot by a bullet;
That I died honourably for the Tsar,
That our doctors are not much good,
And that to my native land
I send a humble greeting.

My father and mother, hardly
Will you find living....
I'll own I should be sorry
That they should grieve for me.]

'Splendid thing!' said Pasinkov, directly I had finished the last
verse. 'Splendid thing!

But, it's queer,' he added, after a brief pause, 'it's queer you should
have chanced just on that.... Queer.'

I began to read another poem, but Pasinkov was not listening to me; he
looked away, and twice he repeated again: 'Queer!'

I let the book drop on my knees.

'"There is a girl, their neighbour,"' he whispered, and turning to me