<There were several people in the car but I remembered only three of them. First of all, there was a boy of between eight and ten years old, Nedzvedsky from the village of Volovitsa. His parents, petty landowners (the legacy of their landowning ancestors consisted of five or six dessiatinas of land and a half-ruined hut for a family of at least five) were arrested at night when the boy stayed with his grandmother in the village of Boksany, about 15 miles from Soroki. Now complete strangers were taking him small and helpless, without a cap or a coat, to a strange land and the frightened child turned blue from tears and choked in grief. It gave me much pain to look at him!

There also were sisters arrested straight at the promenade.>

Farewell, my dear oaks! Farewell, the beacon of my youth. Since the childhood when I was going back from anywhere these two oaks at the distance running into a ball, compact in summer and lacy in winter had always filled my soul with the warmth of the native home, the warmth of the parental love! Farewell, Tsepilovo. My entire past, farewell!