(Pushkin is probably the ultimate holy cow of Russian-literature-not-in-translation). Perhaps within Russia my boundless geek-love for Pushkin gets me off the hook. OMGWTFBBQ you don’t like Tolstoy? ! As if Tolstoy was compulsory as if not liking him was an insult to the Great Russian Soul. This always horrifies people, outside of Russia anyway, because Tolstoy is one of the Great Russian Authors People Know. As for my wife, she had no bridle, as for that matter, ninety-nine hundredths of our women have none. She was like a spirited carriage-horse that has long been idle, and suddenly finds itself without a bridle. The very sight of her was enough to frighten one. She was in all the brilliancy of the wife of thirty years, who conceives no children, eats heartily, and is excited. She had acquired that provoking beauty that stirs men. She felt it, and paid much attention to her person. The method prescribed by the rascals had evidently succeeded.
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