Chapter 13 No.13

It was drawing towards evening, and once more Trirodov was alone, tormented by his unceasing sadness. His mind was in a whirl. He was in a half-somnolent state, which was like the foreboding of a nightmare. His half-dreams and half-illusions were full of the day's impressions, full of burning, cruel reveries.

It had just grown dark. A fire was v