Book: Muse of revenge

Everything in the world has an end. It comes for a good life. And the master lived well. And Roman, Demyan and Gubins wandered around Russia in vain, vigilantly looking out for a lucky man who would live well. And there was nothing to look for. He was under the noses of the Gubins, right there in a house with white columns, surrounded by an English park. The master lived well, truly well. Don't you still remember the times of Onegin?

The class gave rise to poets, the class nurtured them, the class nourished their ideas. The noble class gave rise to refined poetry. Its beauties were born in old nests, where white columns spoke of the golden dreams of the past. And in order that a few could live a golden life among the white columns, many millions walked under the yoke along the lean earth cut by stripes. A thin bark - with a touch - covered the noble world with another world - the peasant world.

From each side of the brilliant Pushkin, the class looks, winking slyly. Finesse is great, finesse is lordly. Genius gentleman. Pushkin felt sorry for the slave, because his semi-divine genius could not help but see the nobility

Behind the poet, no matter how brilliant he was, his class always stood up like a shadow.