The doctor was ashen grey and looked quite perplexed but... Forgive me, my brother anatomist. You proved to be a man. And a real man!
As he dictated to me the picture was becoming clearer leaving no doubt that it was a murder. The murder with pot shots. Heads crashed with butts... Thorax broken with a blunt thing... Faces burnt with shots.
«Bastard! Nazi!» The top sergeant croaked threatening with fist. «Your place is there, in that heap!»
Weak semblance of a smile appeared on the doctor's anaemic lips. «I know! But perhaps somebody else, not I, will do the autopsy...»
You made me shamed, the brave disciple of Hippocrates! You knew only quite well that you would not be spared having the stigma of the 58th Article.
Not that one is brave who is not afraid but the one who is afraid but does not bend.