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Updated: May 17, 2025
Other men are not able to do that," Polunin told her tenderly. The hurricane raged over the house, but within reigned peace. Polunin went into his study and sat down at his desk; Natasha began to cry; he rose, took a candle, and brought her to Alena, who nursed her. The infant looked so small, fragile, and red that Polunin's heart overflowed with tenderness towards her.
Polunin's study was large, candles burnt on the desk, books were scattered about here and there; an antique firearm dimly shone above a wide, leather-covered sofa. The silent, moonlit night peered in through the blindless windows, through one of which was passed a wire.
"You are innocent, Kseniya," he replied. "Oh, there you go again!" she cried impatiently. "Always sin and innocence! I am a stupid woman, full of beliefs and superstitions nothing more like all women. I want to conceive here, to breed and bear a child here. Do you wish to be the father?" She stood up, looking intently into Polunin's eyes.
"Yes, yes ... Oh yes!... I am tired of roaming about and being always on the brink of a precipice, so I have come to you ... across the fields, where there is snow, snow, snow and sky ... to you, the seeker.... Will you take me? Have you forgiven me that July?" Polunin's face was grave and attentive as he bent over the telephone: "Yes, I have forgiven," he replied.
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