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KIEV – For one hundred and twenty days in a row, Bohdan Krotevyc saw an arm. The one of the prison guard who opened the small iron door of his solitary confinement cell and, in silence, passed him the cup with the soup, the water and the dry bread. “Four months without talking to anyone, without being able to get out of the tiny cell, without being able to turn off the fucking light always on on the ceiling that made me go crazy …”.