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Updated: May 21, 2025
"Beautiful stories are not often easy to live," smiled the young nurse; "but let's see which of us can live the best one." "Polly will!" cried Maggie O'Donnell and Otto Kriloff together. The Election of Polly The convalescent ward was finishing its noonday feast when Miss Hortensia Price appeared. Miss Hortensia Price was straight and tall, with somber black eyes and thin, serious lips.
'Have you news of your son? I asked her at last. The old lady began to weep. I made no more inquiries about Radilov. Picture to yourselves, gentle readers, a stout, tall man of seventy, with a face reminding one somewhat of the face of Kriloff, clear and intelligent eyes under overhanging brows, dignified in bearing, slow in speech, and deliberate in movement: there you have Ovsyanikov.
That the Russians are naturally devoid of humor no reader of Gogol or Griboiedoff, Pushkin, Kriloff or Tourgueneff, can believe; but the comic journals themselves have fallen far too much into the hands of the Imperial University, whose literary style is a combination of the humor of the cider-cellars with the verbal fluency of Billingsgate.
"Ying' a-bed ain't much fun, 'specially when you ache anywhere." "If Miss Lucy was here, maybe she'd have a cake for you," put in Leonora. "But she ain't," responded Cornelius unnecessarily. "She ain't," echoed Otto Kriloff, his face reflecting his thought. "When do you s'pose she'll come back?" queried Maggie O'Donnell. NOby could answer.
"Why, yes," smiled Miss Lucy, with a quick turn. "Polly is almost well, and well little girls don't stay at the hospital, you know. Pretty soon you will go home, too." The nurse passed on, but Aimee's face remained clouded. Next week no Pollee! Other ears besides Aimee's had overheard the news about Polly. Maggie O'Donnell and Otto Kriloff stared at each other in dismay.
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