The White Guard
From the album “Illustrations by Victor Prokofiev and Co”
“To die—it's not like playing tag,” Colonel Nai-Turs, who had appeared from who knows where before the sleeping Alexey Turbin, suddenly said with a lisp. He was in a strange uniform: a radiant helmet on his head, a coat of mail on his body, and he was leaning on a long sword, the likes of which no longer exist in any army since the Crusades. A heavenly glow followed Nai like a cloud.