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“The passport, oh, Lord!” repeated Vanushka. “The
village-community had nothing against me, I had paid my
taxes, and finally I got my passport. I carried it on me,
and then I put it in my trunk, but now it is lost... Oh,
Lord! Help me, merciful barin! For if not, I shall have
to return, and we have nothing, all are starving at home”...
He was interrupted by the wailing of the woman.
Then Stepan began his story in the same roundabout
way. He, too, had lost his trunk, and so had several others,
and they begged me to help them to get them back.
They had been detained two weeks because of those lost
trunks! Other emigrants begged money for their starving
or sick relatives. It was a pitiful story; alas! only too
common, I fear, in the history of this colossal expatriation.
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