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Updated: June 7, 2025
She dreamed that the whole flat was filled up from floor to ceiling with a huge piece of iron, and that if they could only get the iron out they would all be light-hearted and happy. Waking, she realized that it was not the iron but Dymov's illness that was weighing on her. "Nature morte, port..." she thought, sinking into forgetfulness again. "Sport... Kurort... and what of Shrek?
Economy on the other hand throws the reader on his own resources. It sets the imagination wandering in the fields of infinity. Some readers find this one of the essential delights of literature, though others prefer that the author should take them by the hand and indicate every detail with the precision of the sign-posts at a German Kurort. But it was helped by an accident.
The artist took the sketch in his hands, and as he examined it w alked, as it were mechanically, into the other room. Olga Ivanovna followed him humbly. "Nature morte... first-rate sort," he muttered, falling into rhyme. "Kurort... sport... port..." From the studio came the sound of hurried footsteps and the rustle of a skirt. So she had gone.
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