Ginuchaj. Green, pure hills of Lithuania. Orange sparks lisichek on a woody slope. ZHeka - ruddy and irreproachably pure,
inside and outside, darling Zheka... All leave. And the first - the best. Why it should pick up a leukaemia - in the
sverhsuperchistom the institute which is engaged in Supercleanliness? Because so the Destiny has wanted... These little
fools my favourite imagine that I operate Destiny. Young. The youth is silly and self-confident. It is self-confident, for it is silly.
The person can operate a motor vehicle. The tank. Itself. Other person (in very small degree). And - all. The destiny is equally
effective millions forces (absolutely on Lvu Nikolaevichu). To operate destiny, means to operate million crowds of people
moreover and million flights of various accidents in addition...
The such can only Destiny - blind mighty babishcha with brains of a crocodile and with its ethical representations......
At Nicolas nerves were - to hell. Angiospasms. The hand suddenly started to shiver, when he worried (and he worried - quite
often, but was able to hide it: "trjasene hands, trjasene feet, soul trjasene..."). Guzzled constantly any nejroleptiki... No, it is
wrong - nejrostatiki, it seems. Spazmolitiki... CH-lines, yes unless in it business? Simply: the best leave the first. And that are
worse - continue to exist further. That a grade more low and a class more liquid... And so - always. Why the human race does
not improve in any way. Despite all victories of forces of reason and progress. How many centuries optimists repeat: further
better, worse there will be no place. A horse-radish....
But my little fools trust. "The bowl of patience of the Owner was overflowed, and it has made the enemy dead". My work.
Mea, besides, kulpa... Hardly Kuzma Ivanych so thinks. Kuzma Ivanycha on a curve you will not go round. Among Kuzma
Ivanycha fools are not present. But he considers that all such conversations yes plus here also superstitions - on advantage
of business. A hell majorem MEA gloria. And ladushki.
For finally all keeps on the fear, any power costs - on fear, and only on fear, and anything it is not necessary out of fear.
Nevertheless other - bosh: love, admiration, respect, personal fidelity, a fanatical worship - bosh, efemerida, phantoms, a dust
of steps. Fear.
ONLY FEAR. And anything, except fear. Honour, speak? Mind? Conscience? The truth? The fear is stronger than the truth.
The truth wins, it is true, the truth is capable to win everybody is a tool powerful and proud. But the Fear never disappears,
here in what business. He can be won, but it remains, it only bends down the ugly grey head while the truth rages over it, as
a just storm. Then this storm is exhausted, exhausts itself, tiredly calms down, goes on the deserved rest, and here here and
is found out suddenly that all injust smeteno, is flattened out and turned into ashes - everything, except, it appears, the Mister
of Fear. A silent mysterious life of a decaying corpse - here that such the Mister Fear... The Shade of the madam of Death on
a dirty white shroud of the screen...
- Stas Zinovich, where it they? It has distracted. On the right and at the left at small height, sparkling red and dark blue, have
passed, slowly having overtaken, long as wasps, striped helicopters of a traffic police... What difference, where? Have not
touched, and on those thanks.
However, speed was - almost resolved: hundred sixty. The obstinate foot still did not wish to do more. It has forced it to work.
Hundred seventy... Eighty... Ninety... ("Stas Zinovich, well really, start up for a wheel...") two hundred. Will suffice. While....