Somehow—in New York—when she had belonged to the orchestra she had never noticed the sky. A few months more and the snow would come—
A winter in Russia—
The early summer months passed quickly—until that first terrible day of August, 1914, when all the horrors of the world were set loose and the monsters from the under-world of men's minds were stalking unashamed.
If Dasha had put aside her Nihilistic feelings—she laid them still farther from her now.
A purpose to serve her Russia lifted itself high and strong before her soul.
She smiled as she thought of death.
III
Snow and cold—suffering—starvation—in the forests the birds were dead—
Little children were dead—
The stream of fugitives increased as the days passed—Starvation—death—