She wanted to add something, but stopped. Again her ear caught the hubbub that for a moment bad died away. Again, as she stood here under the clock, a part of her seemed to be still out in the fields. Finish it quickly. She looked out over the fields, her feet wet with the cold dew, her gaze fixed somewhere far, far away.
Grasshoppers ware chirping in the wheat, which spread like a sea right up to the cherry-trees.
Farther off to the right stood great piles of flax still warm with the sun and as fragrant as freshly crushed oil seeds. High above the wheat, the flax and the rich, calm earth floated the full, contented moon. But all this meant little, it was all meant to carry the distant drone over the fields. Long ago he had ceased to be Seryozha, and had become Sergei. He had surely long forgotten, erased from his memory all thought of the past.