"The highroad was dry, the lovely April sun was shining warmly, but in the ditches and forest snow still lay on the ground. Harsh, dark, interminable winter was only just receding, and spring was suddenly here, but for Marya Vasilyevna, who sat now in the cart, there was nothing new or engaging in the warmth, or in the languid ethereal woods warming in the breath of spring, or in the black flocks flying off to the fields over giant puddles resembling lakes, or in the strange fathomless sky, into which, it seemed, one could escape with such pleasure."