I was depressed. For seven years I continually came across misunderstandings and injustices. However there it was natural, but here... Here I with heart and soul tried to be useful for those as unfortunate as myself. And political prisoners just as myself disapproved me for that. How could it be? Is life worth of living in that case? This time Dr. Mardna had to work a lot to persuade me that I would be the most useful at the morgue. I was persuaded with the quote «Hie locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae» («This is the place where Death rejoices to anyone who can help Life.»)