I will probably never hear that voice so dear or feel that touch so dear with which my little children so spoiled me ...
I am making a last attempt at writing a real letter -- at least from here -- although that qualification, I believe, is utterly superfluous. I do not think that I was fated at any time to write to anyone from anywhere.
The day before yesterday, as I was calmly reading ... I saw a reduced vision of my son Yuri's face, but dead, in a horizontal position, his eyes closed.
How strange! Am I already dead?"
If faith without works is dead, then deeds can live without faith ...