United States or Cuba ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
All around her it was dark, cold and silent as she passed through the empty, spacious rooms. A forgotten candle still burnt wanly in the drawing-room, and a rat ran out from under the table. She was again plunged in darkness when she entered Ivanov's study, and she was greeted by a smell of horse trappings and joiners' glue. Ivanov was asleep on the sofa.
Without a single word he passed through the room and went into his study. Mintz watched him in severe silence, then followed him. Inside he leaned against the door-post with a wry smile: "You are shunning me all this time. Why?" "You imagine it," returned Ivanov. He lighted a candle on his desk, took off his coat, changed his boots and clothes, hung up his rifle. "That is ridiculous!"
The Germans attacked all along the line on 18 November, but Ruszky's left seemed to afford the easiest prey; it had no natural line of defence, and Hindenburg's devastation during his retreat in October made the arrival of reinforcements from Ivanov farther south unlikely.
"Officer," a quiet, restrained, yet distinct voice came from among the soldiers, "you have no right It's for the court to decide you aren't a judge it's plain murder, not " "Silence!" thundered the officer, his voice choking with rage. "I'll give you a court. Ivanov, go ahead." He put the spurs to his horse and rode away.
The success of Ruszky in the north and of Ivanov in the south in setting a term to the terrifying sweep of the German advance produced a temporary optimism in Russia comparable with that which followed the victory on the Marne; and in neither case did the Allies realize the extent of the advantage gained by the Germans or foresee the years that would pass before the loss could be recovered.
The first warm rain drops fell from the invisible sky as Ivanov walked across the meadows; at first they were sparse, pattering noisily on his leather jacket; then they began to fall more heavily and he was soon enveloped in the sonorous downpour of a vernal shower.
Ivanov stood still and Lydia went up to him. She had dark shadows under her eyes, and the hand of time already bearing away her youth and beauty lay upon her marvellously white skin, at her lips and on her cheeks, in faint, scarcely visible wrinkles. Ivanov noticed it distinctly. "Does one hunt at night in the dark? I did not know that," Lydia said, repeating "I did not know...."
She struggles with him for a whole year and, instead of being raised, he sinks lower and lower. ... In my description of Ivanov there often occurs the word "Russian." Don't be cross about it. When I was writing the play I had in mind only the things that really matter that is, only the typical Russian characteristics.
If a grown-up juryman, morally and mentally sane, is convinced that the ceiling is white, or that Ivanov is guilty, to struggle with that conviction and to vanquish it is beyond the power of any Demosthenes. Who can convince me that I have a red moustache when I know that it is black?
Ivanov lingered a while on the doorstep scraping the mud off his boots, then stretched himself vigorously, working the muscles of his arms and reflecting that it was high time for him to be in bed, in a sound healthy sleep, so as to be up at dawn on the morrow.
Word Of The Day