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Updated: June 7, 2025


The Co-ordinator said, "I suppose I'm an incurable romantic. You see, I hate to see you go." Academician Amschel Mayer was a man in early middle years; Dr. Leonid Plekhanov, his contemporary. They offset one another; Mayer thin and high-pitched, his colleague heavy, slow and dour. Now they both showed their puzzlement. The Co-ordinator added, "Without me." Plekhanov kept his massive face blank.

Amschel Mayer and Leonid Plekhanov were the center of the fracas and right now were at it hot and heavy. Joe Chessman listened with only half interest. He settled into a chair on the opposite side of the lounge and sipped at his coffee. They were going over their old battlefields, assaulting ramparts they'd stormed a thousand times over.

Man develops at his fastest when pushed by such circumstance." The Earthling looked off, unseeing, into a far corner of the room. "At least, so is my contention. Far away from here a colleague is trying to prove me wrong. We shall see." Leonid Plekhanov returned to the Pedagogue with a certain ceremony.

It foreshadows a complete change in the psychosis of the Russian reader, the decay of the literature of passivity, and the rise of a new literature of action and physical revolt. The best representative of the transition from Chekhov to the new literature of self-assertion is Maxim Gorki's friend, Leonid Andreev. . . .

The mistress takes a little girl from some one or other and brings her up; and when she is seventeen or eighteen years old, then, without any talk, she marries her off to some clerk or townsman, just as she takes a notion, and sometimes even to a nobleman. Ah, yes, sir! Only what an existence for these protégées, sir! Misery! LEONÍD. But why? POTÁPYCH. They have a hard time.

LEONÍD. Then I shan't enter the service, Potápych; I shall come directly to the country, and here I shall live. POTÁPYCH. You must enter the service, sir. LEONÍD. What's that you say? Much I must! POTÁPYCH. No, sir, why should you work yourself? That's not the way to do things!

LEONÍD. But how can that be? Isn't it possible to talk her over somehow or other? GAVRÍLOVNA. Just go and try. No, she won't come out of her room now for five days; and she won't let any one at all see her there. VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Do you want to talk your mamma over? LEONÍD. Yes. VASILÍSA PEREGRÍNOVNA. Do you want me to tell you how? LEONÍD. Please be so kind, Vasilísa Peregrínovna.

Somehow they all get tired of married life later; they mostly pine away. LEONÍD. Why do they pine away, Potápych? POTÁPYCH. Must be they don't like it, if they pine away. LEONÍD. That's queer. POTÁPYCH. The husbands mostly turn out ruffians. LEONÍD. Is that so? POTÁPYCH. Everybody hopes to get one of our protégées, because the mistress right away becomes his patroness.

Fly high enough, of course, to avoid gunfire." Hawkins darted a look at Plekhanov, turned and hurried back to his plane. Joe Chessman, his voice sullen, said to Plekhanov, "We can't afford any more mistakes, Leonid. We've had too many already." He said to Watson, "Be sure and let their cavalry units scout us out. Allow them to see that we're entering the valley too.

I could not take one as a gift; but I looked through his old books and there found, in a tattered condition, The Red Laughter, by Leonid Andreef, a drama by Gorky, a long poem by Skitaletz, and a most interesting account of Chekhof's life by Kouprin, all of which I bought after a short haggle for fivepence, twenty copecks.

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