The prisoners had been dispatched, and it was Yakob's turn to be taken before the officer in command of the battalion.
'Say that I…that I…' Yakob entreated his guard.
'What are you in such a hurry for?'
'Say that I…'
The soldiers were sitting round a camp-fire, piling up the faggots.
Soup was boiling in a cauldron.
'Say that I…' he begged again, standing in the thick smoke.
At last he was taken into the school-house.
The officer in command stood in the middle of the room with a cigarette between his fingers.
'I…I…' groaned Yakob, already in the door. His dishevelled hair made him look like a sea-urchin; his face was quite disfigured with black marks of violence; behind his bleeding left ear still stuck the cigarette. His swollen upper lip was drawn sideways and gave him the expression of a ghastly smile. His eyes looked out helpless, dispirited, from his swollen lids.
'What do you want to say?' asked the officer, without looking at him.
Something suddenly came over him.