About the book: 1895 / The other day I was returning home late at night. In the whitish twilight stretched long, deserted streets, far, far away, along their entire length, one could clearly distinguish bollards and lampposts without lanterns burning on them, and street cleaners, sadly sleeping, sitting on stumps, and bowing their heads on their knees . It was night time, but there was no night. Oh, those terrible white nights! It seems that the city was suddenly visited by a plague and the entire population died out. It’s day outside, but everything around is deserted and gloomy. The windows are hung with curtains, the shops are tightly locked, and in the endless perspective of the avenue, a human figure rarely, rarely flashes and disappears around the corner. It was as if terrible death had passed through the city with its scythe..