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608 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1935
Day means struggle; scornful spits, derision and persecution. In the dark all are equal; in the sleep everyone’s fate is the same. If only it were always night and no anxiety. If only one could die in darkness!
Hateful, requiring great efforts, the dawn arrives.
The river resiliently rolled its waves. The water was running, the water didn’t stop for a moment. And the doomful signs were hidden in all this. A strict warning, a promise. And suddenly she was stung by the possible exit: “It will be so calm at the bottom.”
“Only we all must perish… All those who were already born… Because it’s the wheel of the revolution…” Softly whispers Sasha such an important word, and he imagines that wheel, so big, so gigantic, and there are seats inside, and powerful persons are sitting there, with moustache and without… And all of them are writing: how, and what, and when. And nearby, as if in the park, the orchestra plays waltz. Such a beautiful waltz. And the wheel keeps turning and turning; music keeps playing, and under the wheel there are just everyone’s arms and legs. There Sasha sees himself, his mother, the older brother; only their heads are visible, and the music plays beautifully: “You fell victims in the deadly struggle…”