Volodya lifted his right arm. A long, faintly outlined, confused shadow crept across the shaded wall.
It was the shadow of an angel, flying heaven-ward from a depraved and afflicted world; it was a translucent shadow, spreading its broad wings and reposing its bowed head sadly upon its breast.
Would not the angel, with his gentle hands, carry away with him something significant yet despised of this world?
Volodya sighed. He let his arm fall languidly. He let his depressed eyes rest on his books.
It was a long autumn evening.... The wall was a melancholy white.... On the other side of the wall something wept and rustled.
VII
Volodya’s mother found him a second time with the shadows.
This time the bull’s head was a success, and he was delighted. He made the bull stretch out his neck, and the bull lowed.
His mother was less pleased.
“So this is how you are taking up your time,” she said reproachfully.