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<p><font size="2" face="Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif">Dos Plamia eshche zdes. Roslye profi v nagluho zastegnutyh plashchah ot gorla do kolen i shirokopolyh Soro, nadvinutyh na lob, bystro i reshitelno somknulis vokrug menia. Skoree, my sami ih vseh polozhim, esli oni sunutsia na nashu territoriiu. Neozhidanno on rvanulsia s takoj siloj, chto protashchil za Soboj konvoirov na neskolko shagov, prezhde chem odin iz nih utihomiril Starika, udariv rukoiatkoj izluchatelia po shee. <br>
Terpenie i trud chego tolko ne peretrut. Chastye, rezkie poryvy vetra brosali v lobovoe steklo Prigorshni ledianoj vody, trepali sero-zelenye makushki zaroslej vokrug ogrady, Vzdymali opahala krasnyh lopuhov, razbrasyvaia s ih kraev obilnye veera Melkih bryzg. Mne ne nravilsia smysl, kotoryj on vkladyval v Eto poniatie. No etot zhest privel pryguna v sebia, i on podnial blaster, Napraviv ego v golovu umiraiushchego. <br>Zasfernik, kotorogo emu udalos uvidet v zerkale otkroveniia, dejstvoval bystree Ubijcy. Sekundu vyrazhenie beshenstva eshche Sohranialos na lice Bigmana, zatem on kak-to stranno obmiak i opustilsia Obratno na stul. Smogla? Golova Poshla krugom, ia ne znal, kak na eto reagirovat. Eto ia ih udelal, chto li? Prokliatie, nikakogo Udovolstviia ot takoj mesti, ia ved pochti nichego ne pomniu! Vozmushchenie Zahlestnulo magika zharkoj volnoj. <br>
Zdes ia sushchestvo bez proshlogo po toj lish prichine, chto eto Proshloe nikogo ne interesuet i im nuzhna lish moia zhizn vo slavu i spasenie etogo Mira. Navernoe, eti koshmary poseshchaiut kazhdogo malchishku ili Devchonku, kotoryh sudba zapisala v ucheniki Presvetlogo Doma. Oni zhe prosto razdaviat menia, kak zhuka, sluchajno popavshego Pod kabluk. Tak chto On poimel menia vdvojne. ejisuminyon R0ZaU1BDUUFZGFJdXllcRUFzWFxCRkAaQ0VbVFFHUkBeGlZeXw==</font></p>
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