‘What next? I might be afraid at night perhaps, but it is still daylight.’
‘Very well. Give me your hand.’
I obeyed. Olyessia quickly turned up the sleeve of my overcoat and unfastened the button of my cuff. Then she took a small Finnish knife about three inches long out of her pocket, and removed it from its leather case.
‘What are you going to do?’ I asked, for a mean fear had awakened in me.
‘You will see immediately.... But you said you wouldn’t be afraid.’
Suddenly her hand made a slight movement, hardly perceptible. I felt the prick of the sharp blade in the soft part of my arm a little higher than the pulse. Instantly blood showed along the whole width of the cut, flowed over my hand, and began to drop quickly on to the earth. I could hardly restrain a cry, and I believe I grew pale.
‘Don’t be afraid. You won’t die,’ Olyessia smiled.
She seized my arm above the cut, bent her face down upon it, and began to whisper something quickly, covering my skin with her steady breathing. When she stood up again unclasping her fingers, on the wounded place only a red graze remained.
‘Well, have you had enough?’ she asked with a sly smile, putting her little knife away. ‘Would you like some more?’
‘Certainly, I would. Only if possible not quite so terrible and without bloodshed, please.’