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625 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1953
He preferred independence and freedom – in the nursery he deployed toy soldiers and shot at them with the cannon. Obediently stood officers and privates, dutifully fell under the cannonballs. Gleb shot them at random. But both tin soldiers and the cannon with the spring were such miserable things. He dreamt of the real shotgun.
The entire room with the stained glass window grew imbued with the gold of the calmed down nature and as its final triumph in the unknown dimensions of the sky suddenly the brightest rainbow shone. But it was so near. Its edge – it seemed – abutted on the lawn just before the house…
Gleb sat down on the windowsill. What quietude! What a fresh world. What unearthly brilliance.
He could go to bed very late, he could worry, he could feel as an unfathomable personality fated to live in solitude and ennui – but there was one thing he couldn’t depress in himself: his youth – it was jumping out of every nook and cranny of his ego.
The vision of his mother in the carriage slowly going away from the house gates, his mother in the same old hat with an ostrich feather, she was waving to him with her handkerchief, she disappeared around the corner… This vision stayed with him forever. Wherever he was, he kept seeing his mother going away, departing to eternity.