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272 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1911
Love must be satisfied, tears must be quenched with tears. And when the soul of a great people is tormented by vague yearnings – life itself is upheaved, the spirit trembles and those who are pure in heart offer themselves as sacrifice. So it was with Sasha Pogodin, a youth beautiful and pure: he was chosen to calm the passions of men and soothe their pain, and his spirit was tuned to the call of Destiny – a call to which others are deaf; the golden cup was filled to the brim with the blood of his sacrifice. A man of sorrows and tender hearted, he was universally beloved for the beauty of his countenance and for his purity of purpose; and his soul was drained by the lips of the thirsty. He died early, died a terrible and solitary death; and he was buried together with murderers, whose fate he had chosen to share; and no one remembered him kindly and there is no cross over his nameless grave.
The printing presses in the town roared mechanically, turning out no less mechanical reports of yesterday’s fires and yesterday’s damage. And the town people were distracted and weary in their vain attempts to pierce the darkness which lay beyond the lights of the town. It was dark out there. Something invisible was wandering in the darkness. Out there some lost soul, suffering under an unforgivable injury was wailing like a mortally wounded animal.