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Updated: May 25, 2025
Desperately she cast about for some device by which Teacher's favour might be reclaimed and all jubilantly she imparted it to Yetta. "Say," she whispered, "I tell you what you want to do. You leave your mamma wash your dress." "I don't know would she like it. I washes me the face fer her und she has a mad on me."
Then were the combined efforts of two of the strongest members of the class required to drag the edges into apposition while Eva guided the buttons to their respective holes and Yetta "let go of her breath" with an energy which defeated its purpose.
During recess time Yetta learned that Teacher was further entrenched in groundless prejudice. Sarah Schrodsky, class bureau of etiquette and of savoir faire, warned the new-comer: "Sooner you comes on the school mit dirt on the face she wouldn't to have no kind feelin's over you.
"Yah, yah! the revolution, Yetta " he pushed his lean, brown forefinger into the cage of an enraged canary "the revolution! Yes, Yetta Silverman, the revolution!" She sighed. So I saw in my dream that the man began to run. Pilgrim's Progress. As the first-class carriage rolled languidly out of Balak's only railway station on a sultry February evening, Pobloff, the composer, was not sorry.
That's why I let myself go " she was blushing now, and old Koschinsky nearly dropped a bird-cage in his astonishment. "Yetta, Yetta!" Arthur insisted, "wind-bag, you call your comrade? Were you not, just for a few minutes, in the same category? Again she was silent. "I feel now," he ejaculated, as he came very close to her, "that we must get outside of these verbal entanglements.
"I washes me the face," whimpered the culprit, and the eyes with which she regarded Eva Gonorowsky added tearfully: "Villain behold your work!" "So I see, but that is no reason for being late. You have been late twice a day, morning and afternoon, for the last three days and your only excuse has been that you were washing your face. Which is no excuse at all." "I tells you 'scuse," pleaded Yetta.
"I'm ready," said Miss Lazar, a pretty brunette in white "She's all right," declared Auntie Yetta. "Her tongue cuts like a knife that has just been sharpened, but she's as good as gold." "Am I? I ain't so sure about it. You had better look out, Mr. Levinsky," the brunette in white warned me "Why, that just makes it interesting," I returned. "Danger is tempting, you know.
Say, what you think, she sends a boy home once mit notes even the while he puts him on mit dirty sweaters. She says like this: 'Sweaters what you wears by nights und by days ain't stylish fer school. Und I guess she knows what is stylish. I ain't never in my world seen no stylisher teacher." "I don't know be buttoned-in-back dresses the style this year," ventured Yetta.
This diversified group, together with much revolutionary literature, poems, pamphlets, the works of Proudhon, Songs Before Sunrise, by Swinburne, and a beautiful etching of Makart's proletarian Christ, completed, with an old square pianoforte, the ensemble of an individual room, a room that expressed, as her admirers said, the strong, suffering soul of Yetta Silverman, Russian anarchist, agitator, and exile.
And Yetta why did she now so openly proclaim destruction as the only palliative for social crime when she had so eloquently disclaimed earlier in the day the propaganda by force, by dagger, and dynamite? He had hardly asked himself the question when there came a fierce rapping of wooden clubs at door and window.
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