Subienkow looked on, and shuddered. He was not afraid to die. He had carried his life toolong in his hands, on that weary trail from Warsaw to Nulato, to shudder at meredying. But he objected to the torture. It offended his soul. And this offence, in turn, wasnot due to the mere pain he must endure, but to the sorry spectacle the pain would make ofhim. He knew that he would pray, and beg, and entreat, even as Big Ivan and the othersthat had gone before. This would not be nice. To pass out bravely and cleanly, with a smileand a jest-ah that would have been the way. But to lose control, to have his soul upset bythe pangs of the flesh, to screech and gibber like an ape, to become the veriest beast-ah, that was what was so terrible
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