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Updated: May 8, 2025
Then, to my amazement, he began to pour out the soup on the ground beside the brazier and, going out of the yurta, threw the pie over the fence. "It is Sepailoff's feast and, though it may be very tasty, it may also be poison. In Sepailoff's house it is dangerous to eat or drink anything." Distinctly oppressed by these doings, I returned to my house.
My old friend, the agronome, and I started at once for Sepailoff's, where I left him at the door while I went in and was met by the same soldier who had brought the supper to us. Sepailoff received me immediately. In answer to my protest he said that it was a mistake and, asking me to wait for a moment, went out. I waited five, ten, fifteen minutes but nobody came.
As the soldier bent over the table to set the dishes down, the Chief motioned me with his eyes and slipped to me the words: "Notice his face." When the man went out, my host sat attentively listening until the sounds of the man's steps ceased. "He is Sepailoff's executioner who hangs and strangles the unfortunate condemned ones."
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