“Dvanov felt sorry for Nekhvoraiko, because he was being wept over not by his mother and father but only by music, and there was no feeling on the faces of the men following behind, who were themselves ready for inevitable death in the routine of revolution.”
“The soldier’s eyes had died, the passing reflections of a cloudy sky could be seen in them—as if nature had come back into the man after the removal of an oncoming life that had obstructed its way.”