Ten Days

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Eastman was right. From its opening page, Ten Days has a tempo and a voice that sets it apart, in an era when reportage as a genre was still in its infancy. Since March , when the roaring torrents of workmen and soldiers beating upon the Tauride Palace compelled the reluctant imperial duma to assume the supreme power in Russia, it was the masses of the people, workers, soldiers and peasants that forced every change in the course of the revolution.

Reed never made much effort to conceal his sympathies. His account of the Bolshevik leadership is frankly partisan:. Then followed a savage hunt of the Bolsheviks; hundreds were imprisoned, among them Trotsky, Madame Kollontai and Kamenev; Lenin and Zinoviev went into hiding, fugitives from justice; the Bolshevik papers were suppressed. But the provisional government found itself unable to substantiate its accusations; the documents proving pro-German conspiracy were discovered to be forgeries; and one by one, the Bolsheviki were released from prison without trial, on nominal or no bail, until only six remained.

The impotence and indecision of the ever-changing provisional government was an argument nobody could refute. And so, while the Mensheviks and socialist revolutionaries involved themselves in compromise with the bourgeoisie, the Bolsheviks rapidly captured the Russian masses. In July they were hunted and despised; by September the metropolitan workmen, the sailors of the Baltic fleet, and the soldiers, had been won almost entirely to their cause.

Avicii - Ten More Days

Reed was present at almost every scene he describes. He was in the room; he heard the debates; and he saw the chaos of revolution. By night, armed patrols went through the silent streets, and on the corners soldiers and Red Guards squatted around little fires laughing and singing; in the daytime great crowds gathered on the sidewalks listening to interminable hot debates between students and soldiers, businessmen and workmen.

On his first return to America after the October revolution, he got bogged down in a debilitating series of trials for sedition as a communist. His penchant for trouble-seeking told on his mental and physical health, and he began to suffer from insomnia and depression. By the time he set off back to Russia to participate in the second congress of the Comintern, he was visibly deteriorating from scurvy and malnutrition.

Already the revolution was disintegrating into faction fighting. We rescue and rehabilitate, then home the pit bulls with the assistance of qualified Vet and animal behavior specialists. During the time of rehabilitation these animals are also showed what it feels like to be loved by exercising them daily and socializing them with other dogs.

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We rehabilitate and re-introduce well balanced American pit bull terriers into society and we strive to assist in the education of the public on the American Pit Bull Terrier and assist in the struggle against Pit Bull Fighting. Armed with traps, nets and little experience we embarked on our first feral cat capture. Our goal was to trap, neuter and release TNR as well as vaccinate, feral cats around Gauteng, thus preventing the spread of certain diseases as well as overpopulation.

We have already received some amazing food donations and would love to receive many more. Many runners watched the daily slog Hazel and Tumelo endured in and wished they could be part of this cause in some way. So, we are excited to extend an invite to all club runners to please join in by running one or more of the days or doing a day with a relay team. Reach out and we will accommodate you as best we can! When the meal was finished each woman went to the desk in the corner, where Mrs.

Stanard sat, and paid her bill. I was given a much-used, and abused, red check, by the original piece of humanity in shape of my waitress. My bill was about thirty cents. After dinner I went up-stairs and resumed my former place in the back parlor. I was quite cold and uncomfortable, and had fully made up my mind that I could not endure that sort of business long, so the sooner I assumed my insane points the sooner I would be released from enforced idleness.

I listlessly watched the women in the front parlor, where all sat except myself. One did nothing but read and scratch her head and occasionally call out mildly, "Georgie," without lifting her eyes from her book. He did everything that was rude and unmannerly, I thought, and the mother never said a word unless she heard some one else yell at him.

Another woman always kept going to sleep and waking herself up with her own snoring. I really felt wickedly thankful it was only herself she awakened. The majority of the women sat there doing nothing, but there were a few who made lace and knitted unceasingly. The enormous door-bell seemed to be going all the time, and so did the short-haired girl. The latter was, besides, one of those girls who sing all the time snatches of all the songs and hymns that have been composed for the last fifty years. There is such a thing as martyrdom in these days.

The ringing of the bell brought more people who wanted shelter for the night. Excepting one woman, who was from the country on a day's shopping expedition, they were working women, some of them with children. It tells the story of a great trouble.


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We all have our troubles, but we get over them in good time. What kind of work are you trying to get? I put my handkerchief up to my face to hide a smile, and replied in a muffled tone, "I never worked; I don't know how. I am so afraid of them. We do not keep crazy people here.

Ten Days That Vanished: The Switch to the Gregorian Calendar

I again used my handkerchief to hide a smile, as I thought that before morning she would at least think she had one crazy person among her flock. There are so many crazy people about, and one can never tell what they will do. Then there are so many murders committed, and the police never catch the murderers," and I finished with a sob that would have broken up an audience of blase critics. She gave a sudden and convulsive start, and I knew my first stroke had gone home. It was amusing to see what a remarkably short time it took her to get up from her chair and to whisper hurriedly: "I'll come back to talk with you after a while.

When the supper-bell rang I went along with the others to the basement and partook of the evening meal, which was similar to dinner, except that there was a smaller bill of fare and more people, the women who are employed outside during the day having returned. After the evening meal we all adjourned to the parlors, where all sat, or stood, as there were not chairs enough to go round. It was a wretchedly lonely evening, and the light which fell from the solitary gas jet in the parlor, and oil-lamp the hall, helped to envelop us in a dusky hue and dye our spirits navy blue.

I felt it would not require many inundations of this atmosphere to make me a fit subject for the place I was striving to reach. I watched two women, who seemed of all the crowd to be the most sociable, and I selected them as the ones to work out my salvation, or, more properly speaking, my condemnation and conviction. Excusing myself and saying that I felt lonely, I asked if I might join their company.

THE NEXT TEN DAYS In La Crosse, WI - Explore La Crosse

They graciously consented, so with my hat and gloves on, which no one had asked me to lay aside, I sat down and listened to the rather wearisome conversation, in which I took no part, merely keeping up my sad look, saying "Yes," or "No," or "I can't say," to their observations. Several times I told them I thought everybody in the house looked crazy, but they were slow to catch on to my very original remark.

One said her name was Mrs.

King and that she was a Southern woman. Then she said that I had a Southern accent.

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She asked me bluntly if I did not really come from the South. I said "Yes. For a moment I forgot my role of assumed insanity, and told her the correct hour of departure. She then asked me what work I was going to do, or if I had ever done any. I replied that I thought it very sad that there were so many working people in the world. She said in reply that she had been unfortunate and had come to New York, where she had worked at correcting proofs on a medical dictionary for some time, but that her health had given way under the task, and that she was now going to Boston again.

When the maid came to tell us to go to bed I remarked that I was afraid, and again ventured the assertion that all the women in the house seemed to be crazy.

The nurse insisted on my going to bed. I asked if I could not sit on the stairs, but she said, decisively: "No; for every one in the house would think you were crazy. Here I must introduce a new personage by name into my narrative. It is the woman who had been a proofreader, and was about to return to Boston. She was a Mrs.

Cornel Metcalfe

Caine, who was as courageous as she was good-hearted. She came into my room, and sat and talked with me a long time, taking down my hair with gentle ways. She tried to persuade me to undress and go to bed, but I stubbornly refused to do so. During this time a number of the inmates of the house had gathered around us. They expressed themselves in various ways. They were all in a terrible and real state of fright. No one wanted to be responsible for me, and the woman who was to occupy the room with me declared that she would not stay with that "crazy woman" for all the money of the Vanderbilts.

It was then that Mrs.