Page:Evgenii Zamyatin - We (Zilboorg translation).pdf/219

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Record Thirty-Seven
207

I returned home at dusk. On the west side the sky was twitching every second in a pale blue, electric convulsion; a subdued, heavy roar could be heard from that direction. The roofs were covered with black, charred sticks—birds.

I lay down; and instantly, like a heavy beast, sleep came and stifled me. . . .

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