Mikhailo Kotsyubinsky

li';.'.u h - i. I It was the day before Christmas. In Yakim's house there was a bustle of activity. The fire crackled in the hearth, the borshch hissed. Olena, Vasilko's mother, was rolling "liolubtsP for supper. Vasilko was sitting on the floor grinding poppy seed for the "kutya." Vasilko...