Abstract
In one of her diaries—and she kept them, day after day, year after year, from 1899 to 1967 (not counting the years of her female life , when she experienced all the things that make up the eternal material of novels: youth, falling in love, marriage, children, hurt feelings, rejection of any kind of hope)—Liubov’ Vasil’evna Shaporina, nee Yakovleva, recalled an incident with her classmate.
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