03-25-2020, 11:35 PM
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He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.
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He kept fancying that Ivan was absorbed in something — something inward and important — that he was striving toward some goal, perhaps very hard to attain.
— Бра́тья Карама́зовы
There was nothing he disliked more than being treated like a child. Now, perhaps that was a bit harsh and the truth of the matter was that he was in fact a child, but this was on Ivan's mind the moment he noticed the beach was getting a little crowded and people were making flighty attempts to show just how good of parent material they were. Sometimes Ivan felt like the whole of Tanglewood were his parents, and especially now he was particularly vexed — and they weren't even chastising him!
Ivan had been practicing how to draw a triangle perfectly equilateral. He saw this design in the very first book he read and was desperately trying to replicate it. He did not have any paper with him and his pencil grip was awful, even having that extra thumb-toe on his left paw. This left him with the only other option to etch his pictures in the sand, but a good distance away from the shore. The water did not interest him much. In fact, he might even be slightly aquaphobic. He'd just prefer to keep his toes dry. Water dragged one down. Space took one up.
The third kitten born of the bookworm parents trotted over, his lanky frame making large strides to meet up with everyone. A curt nod would do for everyone else. "Hi Winston. Hi Simon." He greeted in a good-natured way, a tone usually reserved for his siblings and parents. Others often bore the sharp end of his bitter quips. "What has you so interested in the water anyway? I guess you know from everyone and their mother now that it's dangerous."
Ivan had been practicing how to draw a triangle perfectly equilateral. He saw this design in the very first book he read and was desperately trying to replicate it. He did not have any paper with him and his pencil grip was awful, even having that extra thumb-toe on his left paw. This left him with the only other option to etch his pictures in the sand, but a good distance away from the shore. The water did not interest him much. In fact, he might even be slightly aquaphobic. He'd just prefer to keep his toes dry. Water dragged one down. Space took one up.
The third kitten born of the bookworm parents trotted over, his lanky frame making large strides to meet up with everyone. A curt nod would do for everyone else. "Hi Winston. Hi Simon." He greeted in a good-natured way, a tone usually reserved for his siblings and parents. Others often bore the sharp end of his bitter quips. "What has you so interested in the water anyway? I guess you know from everyone and their mother now that it's dangerous."