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Pilniak, Boris, 1894-1937

"Tales of the Wilderness"


A golden eagle darted from its mist-wreathed eyrie and flew over the
fields; then soared upwards in ever-widening circles towards the
east--where, like a pale rose ribbon stretched across the sky, the
light from the rising sun shed a delicate opalescent glow on the
snow, which it transformed to an exquisite lilac, and the shadows, to
which it lent a wonderful, mysterious, quivering blue tint.
Polunin sat in his seat, huddled together, brooding morosely,
deriving a grim satisfaction from the fact that--all the same--he had
not broken the law. Henceforth, he never could break it; the thought
of Kseniya Ippolytovna brought pain, but he would not condemn her.
At home, Alena was already up and about; he embraced her fondly,
clasped her in his arms, kissed her forehead; then he took up the
infant and gazed lingeringly, with infinite tenderness, upon her
innocent little face.
The day was glorious; the golden sunlight streamed in through the
windows in a shining cataract, betokening the advent of spring, and
made pools of molten gold upon the floor. But the snow still lay in
all its virgin whiteness over the earth.


A YEAR OF THEIR LIVES
I

To the north, south, east, and west--in all directions for hundreds
of miles--stretched forests and bogs enveloped in a wide-spread veil
of lichen. Brown-trunked cedars and pines towered on high.


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