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A new-born wind sighed, stirred, then rose gently from the enchanted caverns of the night and soared up into the sky with the swift flutter of many-plumed wings. Assuredly Kseniya Ippolytovna Enisherlova was not asleep on such a night. The day dawned cold, white, pellucid breathing forth thin, misty vapour, while a hoar-frost clothed the houses, trees, and hedges.
Dmitri Vladimirovich, is that you?" cried a woman's muffled voice: it sounded a great way off through the instrument. "Yes, but who is speaking?" "Kseniya Ippolytovna Enisherlova is speaking", the voice answered quietly; then added in a higher key: "Is it you, my ascetic and seeker? This is me, me, Kseniya." "You, Kseniya Ippolytovna?" Polunin exclaimed joyfully.
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