“In the beginning, it is only an indescribable sadness and uneasiness. One cannot work or give attention to anything. Then comes internal rebellion and hatred of the people and anger toward even inanimate objects. Then the mad desire to run, or die, as the only means of salvation.”“It is as though you read my thoughts.”“It is the Siberian sickness, as my father says. Then comes the crisis: a listlessness, an indifference to the environment, and to the impressions of the senses. It seems that the soul leaves the body and seeks its own country, for to one’s ears seem to come sounds from far away, and to his nostrils faint scents, and before one’s eyes rise views which are not of this country. By then, one has become wicked but is yet harmless. But when the spirit returns, it brings with it the instinct to move, to survive and one forgets the past. One no loger mentions it, no longer thinks of it, but it is the end of youth, of joy, of sentiment, of his better self. He becomes just like the people born here. Have you not noticed that they never laugh heartily? They are never merry without vodka! This country stunts the human mind; the people are all feelingless machines.”“I do not wonder that Zdanowski became a drunkard and that Rudnicki wishes to marry a Siberian girl. Despair urges them on to excesses. I am afraid for myself.”