From the diary of Mikhail Prishvin, 29 November 1937, at the height of the Great Terror:
Our Russian people, like snow-covered trees, are so overburdened with the problems of survival, and want so much to talk to one another about it, that they simply lack the strength to hold out any more. But as soon as someone gives in, he is overheard by someone else – and he disappears! People know they can get into trouble for a single conversation; and so they enter into a conspiracy of silence with their friends. My dear friend N… was delighted to spot me in a crowded [train] compartment, and when at last a seat was free, he sat down next to me. He wanted to say something but was unable to say it in such a crowd. He became so tense that every time he prepared himself to speak he looked around at the people on one side of us, and then at the people on the other side, and all he could bring himself to say was: "Yes…." And I said the same in return to him, and in this way, for two hours, we travelled together from Moscow to Zagorsk:
"Yes, Mikhail Mikhailovich."
"Yes, Georgii Eduardovich."
Quoted in Orlando Figes, The Whisperers: Private Life in Stalin's Russia.
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