Summary: One of the most famous chapters from this classic work, about the seamy underbelly of Moscow at the turn of the last century.
….In the heart of Bunin’s courtyard they had their own “shlanboy.” The yard was lit at that time by one weak, kerosene lantern. A glow barely escaped its dirty glass, and the only window, the one with a white curtain, was lighter than the others. Someone needing a drink would go to the window and knock. A small slot would open. A hand was stuck out the window, palm up. The customer would pay a ruble and a half. The hand would disappear and in a moment reappear with a bottle of Smirnov’s, and the slot would slam shut. One deal, no words….
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