He walked out of the operating room, swaying like a drunk. His legs trembled from the strain. He was so exhausted that he hardly felt any joy from having pulled a young man back from the other side—twice his heart had stopped. He wanted to lie down right there, in the corridor, on the worn linoleum.
The doors of the operating room swung open with a soft, damp sigh, releasing him into the sterile cool of the corridor. Lev Vyshinsky staggered out, swaying like the last drunk at the edge of town. He leaned against the cold, rough wall, feeling his hands—bandaged in exhaustion—betray him with a tremble, and his legs […]
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