He was amazed at the thought that, blinded and deafened as he was, he had been comforted by the presence of this German, had mistaken his hand for Polyakov’s. Klimov and the German looked at one another. Each had been crushed by the same terrible force, and each was equally helpless to struggle against it. They looked at one another in silence, two inhabitants of the war. The perfect, faultless, automatic reflex they both possessed – the instinct to kill – failed to function.
