“Softly, leaves: do not rustle, Do not wake my Kostya dear.”
And as he recalled his own child, crushed in its sleep by the dumb cook, he began to blink back the welling tears.
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Two brothers pass their lives in rural Russia.
“Softly, leaves: do not rustle, Do not wake my Kostya dear.”
And as he recalled his own child, crushed in its sleep by the dumb cook, he began to blink back the welling tears.