“Oh, Volodya, Volodya!”
Volodya began to cry and to rub his tears, child-like, over his face with the palm of his hand.
“Mamma darling, don’t be angry,” he whispered.
“That’s what comes of your shadows,” said his mother.
Volodya felt the tears in her voice. His heart was touched. He glanced at his mother. She was crying. He turned quickly toward her.
“Mamma, mamma,” he kept on repeating, while kissing her hands, “I’ll drop the shadows, really I will.”
XX
Volodya made a strong effort of the will and refrained from the shadows, despite strong temptation. He tried to make amends for his neglected lessons.
But the shadows beckoned to him persistently. In vain he ceased to invite them with his fingers, in vain he ceased to arrange objects that would cast a new shadow on the wall; the shadows themselves surrounded him—they were unavoidable, importunate shadows.
Objects themselves no longer interested Volodya, he almost ceased to see them; all his attention was centred on their shadows.