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108 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1924
For a brief moment the glittering encirclement of Cossack sabres was cut through on the north by a jet of machine-gun fire, and in a last wild effort the crimson Yevsukov plunged through the breach.
Those who escaped from the death-ring in the sands of the hollow were: the crimson Yevsukov, twenty-three of his men, and Maryutka.
Maryutka was an orphan from a fishing village hidden among the reeds of the vast Volga delta near Astrakhan. For twelve years, beginning at the age of seven, she had sat astride a bench stained with fish entrails, ripping open the slippery grey bellies of herring.
One night a Magyar named Gucsa, who had recently joined their detachment and had been casting longing glances at her for some days, stole up to where she was lying. It ended badly. The Magyar crawled away minus three teeth and plus a big lump on his forehead. Maryutka had created him to the butt-end of her revolver.
As he raised his head Yevsukov and his men were struck by the blazing blueness of his eyes, as if two balls of the finest French bluing were floating in snow-white suds.
Lieutenant of the Guards Govorukha-Otrok was to have been the forty-first on Maryutka’s death list.
He became first in her list of joys.
She developed a tender yearning for him, for his slender hands, for his soft voice, and above all, for his extraordinary blue eyes.