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Updated: May 9, 2025
On such a dazzling golden day as this, the Prince's ancestors had set off with their blood-hounds in by-gone days. In this house a whole generation had lived now the old family was forced to leave it for ever! A red notice "The Bielokonsky Committee of the Poor" had been affixed to the front door the previous evening, and the intruders had bustled all night arranging something in the hall.
He had tasted the poison of the Moscow streets, of books and of women; had been touched by the autumnal sadness of Bielokonsky, where he always stayed in the autumn. Now he knew grief! He walked aimlessly through the trackless fields and down into hollows; the aspens glowed in a purple hue around him; on a hill behind him the old white house stood amid the lilac shrubbery of a decaying park.
When Ivanov ceased speaking she rose noiselessly and went towards the door. She stood on the threshold a brief moment then, went out. The candle still burnt fitfully in the drawing-room. The house was wrapt in silence. Ivan Koloturov, President of the Bielokonsky Committee of the Poor, had ploughed his tiny holding for twenty years.
On the sheet was typed "To the Barin Prozorovsky. The Bielokonsky Committee of the Poor order you to withdraw from the Soviet Estate of Bielokonsky and from the district precincts. President Koloturov." "Very well," said the Prince quietly; "I will go this evening." "You will take no horse." "I will go on foot." "As you like," Koloturov replied. "You will take nothing with you."
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