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"Dead!" "Don't fly up like that! Sit down! I saw the Chief of Police yesterday, and he gave me some advice to hand on to you." "Is she dead, Galitsin?" "No, but she will be. She is sent with a gang to the Ékaterinski Zavad. They are gone already, chained together, and marching through the snow and the cold. It is thousands of miles.
Where is the score? Not a note!" He breathed a few words in Velasco's ear and the Musician started up. "How did you know; who told you? The devil take you, Galitsin!" The Manager smiled, running his hands through his short, crisp curls. "Everyone knows; all St. Petersburg is talking about it.
"By the old road through Tobolsk, I dare say, the usual one. Come, Velasco, don't brood over it!" "Were they chained?" The Musician shuddered and moved his limbs uneasily. "Chains, Galitsin? Fancy, how horrible! How they must clank! It must be maddening jingling, rattling with every step Ah!" The Manager shrugged his shoulders.
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