Fyodor Dostoevsky. House of the Dead (№ 410224)

But now it is the beginning of April, and the holy week is approaching. Little by little, summer work begins. The sun is getting warmer and brighter every day; the air smells of spring and irritating effect on the body. The coming red days excite the chained person, give birth to some desires, aspirations, longing in him. It seems that you are even more sad about freedom under a bright sunlight than on a rainy winter or autumn day, and this is noticeable on all prisoners. They seem to be happy with bright days, but at the same time they increase some impatience, impetuousness. Right, I noticed that in the spring it seemed as if we had more frequent quarrels. More often there was noise, screaming, gam, stories; and at the same time, it happened, you suddenly notice somewhere at work someone's thoughtful and persistent look into the blue distance, somewhere there, on the other side of the Irtysh, where it begins with an immense tablecloth, thousands and a half versts, free Kyrgyz steppe; you sweep someone's deep breath, with all your chest, as if it pulls a person to breathe this distant, free air and relieve them of the crushed, chained soul.