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vamctp 's review for:
White Nights
by Fyodor Dostoevsky
I promised myself to read it on my birth night. I wanted to grieve for the dreamer's love. And for the love I had lost and for that poor little boy who believed he could have it all in his hands.
“Your hands are cold, mine burns like fire. How blind you are Nastenka.”
- 11/21
“Your hands are cold, mine burns like fire. How blind you are Nastenka.”
- 11/21