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Updated: May 10, 2025
"No, her daughter ran away and crossed the sea with a Tartar." "What sort of a Tartar?" "The devil only knows! A Crimean Tartar, a boatman from Kerch." I entered the hut. Its whole furniture consisted of two benches and a table, together with an enormous chest beside the stove. There was not a single ikon to be seen on the wall a bad sign! The sea-wind burst in through the broken window-pane.
"I coomes from Charmany, und I goes into der kerch, as dey say in mine coontry; what might be callet meetin'-us, here." What might have followed, it is not easy to say, had not the loud, declamatory voice of the lecturer just then been heard, as he commenced his address.
Her feet touched the snow-hardened ground and armies of little white and blue flowers sprang up in her footsteps. Soft breezes escorted her, velvety breezes that carried the aromas of the far-off places from which they came, places far to the southward, like Kremenchug and Kerch, and more distant towns beyond the Black Sea whose people were not under the sway of the Great Czar.
"Well said!" he exclaimed in a low voice. "Very well! There was a young Jew in Kerch who wrote verses, and once he wrote: "And the innocently slain, Truth will raise to life again." "He himself was killed by the police in Kerch, but that's not the point. He knew the truth and did a great deal to spread it among the people. So here you are one of the innocently slain. He spoke the truth!"
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