Khortiza, December 18, 1919

My temperature has gone up to 100.3. There is no doubt about it, I am getting ill. It was a bad night. I could not remain upright. On account of the precious stove heat we have to stay all in one room. There was no place to lie down flat; I had to bend in the form of a question mark to get down. My feet were under the bed of my friend. I had to look after him as he was throwing off his blanket all the time. I had an awful time keeping him covered.

Marguerite says that I recited French poems and asked her questions in French. Such unusual acting in present conditions is a typical sign of the spotted fever. I know, too, that I felt very badly.

Be that as it may, one thing is sure, the Anarchists are leaving, they are fleeing!

And strange to say, for all our service and care, they had no word of recognition. Devilish indeed is their conduct. Instead of taking vengeance on their enemies who are pressing them back, they avenge themselves on us. They run through all rooms and search for things they could take with them. They pay absolutely no attention to the sick people. There were even those who put a pistol to the breast of my friend in order to make him confess where he was hiding his money. That is what they are doing to dying men. Others threatened his wife with so much brutality that I thought they were going to put an end to her.

I followed them as they were making the round of our house. Strange to say, when I, in a quiet way, pointed out things as belonging to me, they abstained. I almost believe that their superstition, somehow, had associated me with spirits.

In one case, however, they could not resist their desires. There was a fur coat which a mill owner had brought over in order to have it saved with our help. The eagerness for such a precious thing infatuated one fellow too much. He would not listen when I told him it belonged to me.

They may leave us naked if only they stay away from us for ever and ever.

And yet—what shall we begin now? They have brought the pestilence into our houses. We must just lie down and die. That is the only outlook for the future.

A chill makes me shiver. I must write a line to one of my friends who, I believe, is still safe. He surely will come to help me if he is alive.