Out there in the Silver twilight of the white night she lay, a forest of ?aming church steeples and giant factory chimneys, rising vaguely from the marshes. I pressed my face closer to the dust-crusted windowpane and searched the ?ying landscape. There on the edge of the East She waited for us, strange, mysterious, inscrutable, compelling — a candle drawing us on from the ends of the earth like so many ?uttering moths.