Once they were taking me to the questioning by a different way, through a passage that was even deeper than ours (also underground). After several more steps down there was a small room with the floor strewn with small coal and the walls painted black. There was a machine in front of me. I don't know what else was there, the proud (or obstinacy?) didn't allow me to look about. It was a kind of unearthly calmness typical of Red Indians, if we should to believe Fenimore Cooper.
One of the guards (there were three of them that time) said in an undertone, «She is non about here, is she?» «No.» And we went on.