I had the impression of being abandoned by everyone when the whole city rose and left for the summer. I was afraid to be left alone, and for three days I roamed dejectedly through the city, unable to understand what was happening to me. Whether I went to Nevsky Avenue, to the park, or wandered along the embankments, I never came across the people I was accustomed to meet in certain spots at certain hours all year round. They, of course, didn't know me; but I knew them all right.
—from White Nights, a book by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
Active since February 4, 2011.
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