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Eugene Onegin [XX] I lived then in dusty Odessa… There for a long time skies are clear.

There, stirring, an abundant trade 4 sets up its sails. There all exhales, diffuses Europe, all glitters with the South, and brindles with live variety. 8 The tongue of golden Italy resounds along the gay street where walks the proud Slav,

Frenchman, Spaniard, Armenian, 12 and Greek, and the heavy Moldavian, and the son of Egyptian soil, the retired Corsair, Moral!. [XXI] Odessa in sonorous verses our friend Tumanski has described, but at the time with partial eyes 4 he gazed at it. Upon arriving, he, like a true poet, went off to roam with his lorgnette alone above the sea 5 and then 8 with an enchanting pen he glorified the gardens of Odessa. All right-but there, in point of fact, is a bare steppe around; 12 in a few places recent labor has forced young boughs on sultry days to give compulsory shade.

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