In our Otriad, friendships were continually springing up and dying down.

Some one would confide to one that so-and-so was "wonderfully sympathetic." From the other side one would hear the same.

For some days these friends would be undivided, would search out from the Otriad the others who were of their mind, would lose no opportunity of declaring their "sympathy," would sit together at table, work together over the bandaging, unite together in the public discussions that were frequent and to a stranger's eye horribly heated.

Then very soon there would come a rift.

How could that Russian passionate longing for justified idealism be realised?
Once more there were faults, spots on the sun, selfishness, bad temper, narrowness, what you please.