In some ways, Onegin 7:47 is Pushkin at his finest. 

Universally, there’s the appeal of keeping secrets. 

Who hasn’t feared that even the most toxic secret was better to hold onto than to expunge? 

For even the poisonous thread is ours. To pull it… We’d unravel. 

Even for those secrets dear… They’re ours too. With whom could we trust them? Why would we even air a narrative we were intent on not rewriting?

Add to this the specific. 

Tanya, new city, fading fantasy: She has her own stake in holding on, in not having her dreamworld evaluated by others. 

And the breeding of her audience… How could she trust anyone she’d met under such circumstances?

There’s more still. 

For me, this is one of those hidden pivots in the tale, for to miss how desperately Tanya guards the fading flame which was she and Eugene would be to miss the heartbreaking tragedy which is to follow. 

She loved him. Through rejection, tragedy, abandonment and her mother’s best attempts at a new life. 

To miss this, how late in the game she held him dear… It would be to miss so much of that which was to come. 

And that realization, that most un-Hollywood of endings is the magic of this tale. 

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