A worn writing desk was crammed with books. The light from the lamp barely flickered. Nineteen-year-old Aleksei Ingel’shtet looked tired and worn out by boredom. His face remained almost boyishly young—very pale, with a slight pinkish tint on his cheeks, soft and gentle, almost girlish; his hair was light, flax-colored, thin, fluffy, a little sparse, and curled over his forehead. His blue eyes always showed liveliness and shyness…