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Updated: June 24, 2025
Kseniya Ippolytovna looked at him curiously: "Do you know what the baby-mice smelt like?" "No, why do you ask?" "They smelt like new-born babies like human children! You have a daughter, Natasha. That is everything." The sun sank in an ocean of wine-coloured light, and a great red wound remained amidst the drift of cold clouds over the western horizon.
They sang The Goblets, and the basses thundered: "Drink to the dregs! Drink to the dregs!" Kseniya Ippolytovna offered her first glass to Polunin. She stood in front of him with a tray, curtseyed without lifting her eyes and sang. Polunin rose, colouring with embarrassment: "I never drink wine," he protested. But the basses thundered: "Drink to the dregs! Drink to the dregs!"
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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