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Updated: May 20, 2025
I passed a flower in my walk to-day. It grew in the meadow beside the river bank. It stood dreaming on a long stem. I knew its name. It was a Tchupvskja. I love beautiful names. I leaned over and spoke to it. I asked it if my heart would ever know love. It said it thought so. On the way home I passed an onion. It lay upon the road. Someone had stepped upon its stem and crushed it.
It too was dead. Ah, how I wept This Morning. How my heart beats. To-day A MAN passed. He passed: actually passed. From my window I saw him go by the garden gate and out into the meadow beside the river where my Tchupvskja flower is growing! How beautiful he looked! Not tall like Alexis Alexovitch, ah, no! but so short and wide and round shaped like the beautiful cabbage that died last week.
To-morrow I am to meet Otto at the meadow with the watch and the rest of the things. To-morrow night we are to flee together. I am to go down to the little gate at the foot of the garden, and Otto will be there. To-day I have wandered about the house and garden and have said good-bye. I have said good-bye to my Tchupvskja flower, and to the birds and the bees. To-morrow it will be all over.
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