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Pilniak, Boris, 1894-1937

"Tales of the Wilderness"

As befitted their kind, the shepherds cried out
every abomination after her.
All the summer Olya had begged Agrenev to bring her books to read;
she did not notice, however, that he had never once brought her any!
Then one evening, early in September, after a spell of rain which had
prevented their meeting for some days, there happened that which was
bound to happen--which happens to a maiden only once in her life.
They used always to meet at eight, but eight in September was not
like eight in June. The rain was over, but a chill, desolating,
autumnal wind remained. The sky was laden with heavy, leaden clouds;
it was cold and wretched. That evening the cranes flew southward,
gabbling in the sky. The grass in the ravine was yellow and withered.
There was sunshine there in the daytime, and Olya wore a white dress.
It was there the two of them, Agrenev and Olya, usually bade each
other adieu.
But on that evening, Agrenev accompanied Olya to her home, and both
were absorbed by the same thought--the aunt! Was she sitting by the
window without a lamp waiting for her niece, or had she already
lighted it in order to prepare the supper? Olya hoped desperately
that her aunt would be in her usual place and the lamp unlit, so that
she could slip by into her room unseen and secretly change her
clothes.
Not only did Olya and Alexander Alexandrovitch walk arm-in-arm but
they pressed close together, their heads bent the one to the other--
whispering .


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