Similar on that.
CH-lines! Work it is a pity. An ekstra-class. Lux. I, maybe, never have more than anything similar does not leave.
Probably, - has told Vecherovsky.
But the boy? The Boy as? Or, maybe, intimidate? Well it is impossible itself to present it that they have dared... And can be, it
at all and not the boy even? Very much it strange... Perhaps, it is the robot any, and? Vecherovsky, without answering, has
risen and again has begun to make coffee.
Maljanov watched it a thoughtless sight.
And if they ruin you? - He has asked.
And if all the same?. Where then all it will get to? - It has shaken by a folder.
Well you in a course, - have told Vecherovsky, without turning around. - and not one you. It is a lot of you.
Only not I, - have told Maljanov, winding cheeks. - I do not wish to get mixed up in this business. Dismiss.
Then Vecherovsky has turned to it and has read quietly: "Have told to me that this road me will lead to death ocean, and I
with have halfway turned back. Since then all last before me curve, deaf, roundabout tracks..." Maljanov has moaned, as
from a pain.
It sat, having pressed a folder to a stomach, and was shaken backwards-forward, densely having narrowed eyes, creaking
the squeezed teeth, and in a head it did not have any thought, only the voice hard of hearing Vecherovsky in the tenth,
twentieth time repeated same: "... Since then all last before me curve, deaf, roundabout tracks..." And in five kilometres from
this kitchen, on flat sandy sea coast, on shoal, in motionless water similar to fallen asleep glass lay backwards, awkwardly
having twisted under itself a hand, the boy in short panties with ljamochkoj and with a sandal only on one left foot. It was
absolutely motionless, and to look at it it was unpleasant and terrible, because it seemed for a long time and hopelessly dead.
Over the hills-rocks bordering a city, over near from here suburb houses the sun seemed. Long dark blue shades have laid
down on a beach. The easy breeze was carried by and zarjabil water at coast. And then the boy has suddenly moved.
Resting palms against sand, it has risen and has had a look sleepy eyes around. Then he has suddenly jumped and has
begun to jump on one foot, shaking out water from an ear and sentencing: "the Ear, an ear, pour out water on a dense
pack..." Both there was a beach, and there was a glass sea, and the sun rose in the most vital image, and the little boy,
quite live, healthy, cheerful unless a little wet that is why slightly cold, goes along water barefoot, getting feet damp sand,
holding in a hand a lonely sandal.
Another's planet among stars: the huge spotty red-orange sickle, nearby - two sickles is less, the moon of this planet.
The sickle promptly approaches, the darkness dims the screen, and the simultaneously-mechanical voice interrupted with
hindrances starts to read the radiogramm text monotonously.
Night, torrential rain. Beams of projectors in panic rush about, the disturbing siren disgustingly howls. Flashes of shots, a
crash of automatic turns.