Anton Chekhov,
The Duel (Chekhov/Garnett) — Chapter XVII
“ PUSHKIN. Whether they killed him next morning, or mocked at him--that is, left him his life--he was ruined, anyway. Whether this disgraced woman killed herself in her shame and despair, or dragged on her pitiful existence, she was ruined anyway.So thought Laevsky as he sat at the table late in the evening, still rubbing his hands. The windows suddenly blew open with a bang; a violent gust of wind burst into the room, and the papers fluttered from the table. Laevsky closed the windows and bent down to pick up the papers. ”
