It was a confluence of names and history at the home of little Chrinivyet and Charitizi, a manor on the outskirts of old Sugarhood. Chrystovok and Banya brought their fine company, Carringya made a dip of black beans and the fires of revolution. Andrenichka brought a box of the Franz, a delicate vintage, chilled by the snows of the winter night, and Kellikov sat on a stool like a proper gentleman--I'm sorry, I continually forget they are 'Comrades" now. And the heady assemblage had gathered to discuss the life and times of on Yuri Andreyevich Zhivago, Yura in his youth, but
Doctor Zhivago to history.
