A Little Hero by Fyodor Dostoevsky..At that time I was nearly eleven, I had been sent in July to spend the holiday in a village near Moscow with a relation of mine called T., whose house was full of guests, fifty, or perhaps more.... I don't remember, I didn't count. The house was full of noise and gaiety. It seemed as though it were a continual holiday, which would never end.
It seemed as though our host had taken a vow to squander all his vast fortune as rapidly as possible, and he did indeed succeed, not long ago, in justifying this surmise, that is, in making a clean sweep of it all to the last stick.
نحن نعمل على تصفية المحتوى من أجل
توفير الكتب بشكل أكثر قانونية ودقة لذلك هذا الكتاب غير متوفر حاليا حفاظا على حقوق
المؤلف ودار النشر.
