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Updated: June 19, 2025
I heard a great scream from the inside, and as I came nearer the sound of a man's bass voice speaking rapidly and loudly. When I looked in the girl, Sophie Ramusine, was crouching in a corner, cowering away, with fear and loathing expressed on her averted face and in every line of her shrinking form.
While we were at dinner she spied one of my pencils, and taking it up she wrote the two words "Sophie Ramusine" upon a piece of paper, and then pointed to herself as a sign that that was her name. She handed the pencil to me, evidently expecting that I would be equally communicative, but I put it in my pocket as a sign that I wished to hold no intercourse with her.
Do you think this is a wayside inn or place of public accommodation?" "Oh, sir," he said, "excuse me. This woman is my wife, and I feared that she was drowned. You have brought me back to life." "Who are you?" I asked roughly. "I am a man from Archangel," he said simply; "a Russian man." "What is your name?" "Ourganeff." "Ourganeff! and hers is Sophie Ramusine. She is no wife of yours.
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