Overcome by grief, unnerved by a sense of solitude and of some
irreparable loss, Soloveitchik went back into his room, sat down at the
table, and wept.
CHAPTER XXVII.
Volochine owned immense works in St. Petersburg upon which the
existence of thousands of his _employes_ depended.
At the present time, while a strike was in progress, be had turned his
back upon the crowd of hungry, dirty malcontents, and was enjoying a
trip in the provinces. Libertine as he was, he thought of nothing but
women, and in young, fresh, provincial women he displayed an intense,
in fact, an absorbing interest. He pictured them as delightfully shy
and timid, yet sturdy as a woodland mushroom, and their provocative
perfume of youth and purity he scented from afar.
Volochine had clothed his puny little body in virgin white, after
sprinkling himself from head to foot with various essences; and,
although he did not exactly approve of Sarudine's society, he hailed a
_droschky_ and hastened to the latter's rooms.
Sarudine was sitting at the window, drinking cold tea.
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