ays took with her one of the twenty-seven volumes of Chekov’s stories published between 1950 and 1955. She also warned me, ‘Don’t touch these books. If you want to read Chekov, read that set I bought you.’ There was no need to caution me. Having a set of my own why should I touch hers? Beside, she’d told me this over and over again. Still she was on her guard. She seemed bewitched by those books.So we had two sets of Chekov’s stories at home. Not just because we loved Chekov, but to parry other people like me who loved Chekov. Whenever anyone asked to borrow a volume, she would lend one of mine. Once
authentic louisvuitton outlet online, in her absence, a close friend took a volume from her set. When she found out she was frantic, and at once took a volume of mine to exchange for it.Ever since I can remember, those books were on her bookcase. Although I admire Chekov as a great writer, I was puzzled by the way she never tired of reading him. Why
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mbt, had she had to read him every single day? Sometimes, when tired of writing, she poured herself a cup of strong tea and sat down in front of the bookcase, staring raptly at that set of books. If I went into her room then it flustered her, and she either spilt her tea or blushed like a giryilai:
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