Was it not a feeling of youth he was experiencing now, when he came out to the edge of the wood again from the other side and saw against the bright light of the slanting rays of the sun the graceful figure of Varenka in her yellow dress, stepping lightly past the trunk of an old birch tree with her basket, and when the impression made by this vision of Varenka coalesced with the strikingly beautiful vision of the field of yellow oats bathed in the slanting rays, and beyond the field the distant old forest, speckled with yellow and melting into the blue distance? His heart missed a beat. A
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