Zadrebezzhali glasses from a plane rumble. _Войны will not be. Already go переговоры_.
I, probably, will offer other list, - constraining sick beating heart, Denisov has told. - namely: - Hripun, Chuguraev and Botnik.
But first of all - Hripun, it the most dangerous.
At Hripuna have begun puchitsja deformed, as if from thick crystal, an eye behind which the fear was rinsed.
Know, what is your name at institute? Angel Smerti, - sdavlenno he has told. - completely in dung, and now on popjatnyj?
Were frightened? And anything to you with me not to make - the gut is thin...
The voice was preuvelichenno impudent, but in the pink tense children's face skin, in watery pupils, in a sweaty wheaten
brush stood - to live, live, live!.
It seemed, it will fail on knees.
Denisov has pushed the door upholstered with strict leatherette and by the hardened secretary has passed in an office
where under electric light sohla in a corner krashenaja an artificial palm tree from wood shavings, and the external world has
been cut off by folded marquises at windows. Liganov sat at an immense table and, without lifting a head, with a gloomy kind
wrote something on the institute form, dipping a feather in pudovuju an inkwell of a grey-crimson granite.
I listen, - he has chilly told.
Denisov silently has put on a table the statement, and Liganov, without being surprised, about what without asking, has
mechanically traced the resolution.
As though waited for it.
Probably, waited.
Could say goodbye, - Denisov have inertly told to it.
It and has not lifted a head.
All was correct. The rain in the street again amplified also a foggy multiarmed cold felt the person. Flew from eaves, from
counter umbrellas, from tram wires. Denisov went, without assorting road. Speckled pools blocked asphalt. "Twelve
sentences, - he has thought. - Bolihat has died, Sinelnikov has finished suicide, Zarjan has not believed, Musienko has
believed and has damned me. It is desert. Bones, a wind, sand." Tables of demons ". I have burnt out all round myself.
Blessing has addressed in rage, and my palms are full some bitter ashes. Angel Smerti. To recede already late. It is necessary
to take one more step. Last. _Войны not будет_. The essence of things is comprehended only by what soul aspires to
_абсолютному_ to knowledge. There was only one step. One step. One".