he found himself in Bagila’s room in front of a photograph of his deceased wife and children. Sargel stopped in front of her, dropped his arms along his body. His eyes suddenly filled with sand… He did not immedi- ately understand what kind of feeling squeezed his heart so prickly, because he forgot when it had last visited him. His eyes felt better, but hot lines appeared on his cheeks… What was that? God, is this loneliness? He’s alone, that’s why he always feels bad. And the children…? How could he forget about his sons?! And on this day, dawn began far in the mountains, marking the peaks of Alatau with a white line. After dinner, Jasyn slept for an hour and sat down at his desk. He had been writing all night and only now stood up and opened the window. Cool, damp air rushed into the room. Jasyn shuddered. His head was pounding unbearably, he sat all night without moving, he smoked a lot. The whole world was waiting for the sunrise with bated breath. The dense crowns of elms and poplars, hanging right above the window, have not yet awakened from their sweet predawn dream. Singing birds fluttered in the calm foliage. How many times did he meet sunrises like this, but they never looked alike. “Dawns are like people, each of them has its own disposition, character…” thought Jasyn. He returned to the desk, which stood some distance from the window. A heavy smell of stale tobacco smoke hit his nose. There was a pounding in his temples again. He sank heavily into his chair, bent over what had written during the night. Just two and a half pages! And this was from eight in the evening until five in the morning. Two and a half pages of clean, worked out text in which not a single word has been crossed out. He hated text with blots and did not understand how you can possibly edit your own work. No, he was categorically against such work. “Pure art is not born twice,” he believed. “A work of art can not contain individual words; it is not a wall of bricks. Talent and thought are given to the writer so that he immediately finds what he is looking for. If you have to correct yourself in your mind, fiddling with words on paper – that is not

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