«Hey! There are few of you, seven to one! You'd better call half-dozen more for backup!»
I could not make out who was the first to strike who gave orders. They all rushed at once and the blows of iron pokers rained down. I lunged forward trying to wrest an iron rod from a criminal's hands. Then, under a hail of blows, I fell face down in the snow, covering my head with the hands. Was it an instinct? An accident? Did I behave as Verka Bogdanova advised? I don't know...