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With the ink still wet on his diploma, the twenty-five-year-old Dr Mikhail Bulgakov was flung into the depths of rural Russia which, in 1916-17, was still largely unaffected by such novelties as the motor car, the telephone or electric light. How his alter-ego copes (or fails to cope) with the new and often appalling responsibilities of a lone doctor in a vast country practice - on the eve of Revolution - is described in Bulgakov's delightful blend of candid realism and imaginative exuberance.… (altro)
Insicurezze, paure e geniali intuizioni di un giovane medico appena uscito dall'università e responsabile di un ospedale di un piccolo paese in Russia. ( )
Dati dalle informazioni generali inglesi.Modifica per tradurlo nella tua lingua.
If you have never driven over country roads it is useless for me to tell you about it; you wouldn't understand anyway. But if you have, I would rather not remind you of it.
Citazioni
Dati dalle informazioni generali inglesi.Modifica per tradurlo nella tua lingua.
I don't remember him arriving. I only remember the bolt grating in the door, a shriek from Aksinya and a cart creaking out in the yard.
He was hatless, his sheepskin coat unbuttoned, his beard was dishevelled and there was a mad look in his eyes.
He crossed himself, fell on his knees and banged his forehead against the floor. This to me!
'I'm a lost man,' I thought wretchedly.
'No, I will fight it... I will... I...' After a hard night, sweet sleep overtook me. Darkness, black as Egypt's night, descended and in it I was standing alone, armed with something that might have been a sword or might have been a stethoscope. I was moving forward and fighting... somewhere at the back of beyond. But I was not alone. With me was my warrior band: Demyan Lukich, Anna Nikolaevna, Pelagea Ivanova, all dressed in white overalls, all pressing forward.
Sleep... what a boon...
Ultime parole
Dati dalle informazioni generali inglesi.Modifica per tradurlo nella tua lingua.
'Oh, don't worry - I killed him all right. Trust my experience as a surgeon.'
With the ink still wet on his diploma, the twenty-five-year-old Dr Mikhail Bulgakov was flung into the depths of rural Russia which, in 1916-17, was still largely unaffected by such novelties as the motor car, the telephone or electric light. How his alter-ego copes (or fails to cope) with the new and often appalling responsibilities of a lone doctor in a vast country practice - on the eve of Revolution - is described in Bulgakov's delightful blend of candid realism and imaginative exuberance.