“...And he lay face down in the pillow. And he understood and remembered everything... Young blond soldiers, his infantry in leather shakos and gray overalls, on cloth shoulder straps there are monograms “N” and black numbers 36, 39, 108, 304... Artillery parks in the snow sway with black wheels. The plains are whistling. His horse is white, his horse is snowy and the flesh slides under his hooves, the corpses are cold. The generals bared their heads before him. There are braids on tight collars, brocade and ceremonial uniforms, as if they smell of mothballs. From the smell of mothballs, he turned his nose, raised his head, and above his head were banners, peaks, eagles and mountain peaks shining with light snow...”