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Автор: Adam Mickiewicz

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"Cursed firearms! He who slays with the sword must take his stand
and press on; he parries and flourishes; he may disarm his enemy
and check his sword halfway. But with these firearms it is enough
to hold the gun; an instant, a single spark--
* * * * * * * *
"Did I flee when you aimed at me from above? I levelled my eyes
at the two barrels of your gun. What despair! A strange grief
pinned me to the earth! Why, Gerwazy, ah why did you miss at that
time? You would have done me a kindness!-evidently as a penance
for my sin I must needs--"
Here his breath failed him once more.

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