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Why cunning? Suppose mine.
Aaabaldet! And you do not remember there such, say, Chelkash? Which always writes, and you write it on tinsel, on tinsel? What do you want to say that.
What happened here is a meeting of brothers in mind! Artificial! I mean the network! For this you need a drink! Right now? Do not choke? What are you, stinker brandy stashed in a bra? I have no bastard or bra.
He did not otlipal from Katka: at the end of the tour he dragged her off to dance again, then again, again and again.
Her cheeks are flushed like a nesting doll.
Strauss was replaced by Tchaikovsky, Tchaikovsky Prokofiev, Prokofiev “Amur waves”, “Waves” – again Strauss.
Around heard: E-my !.
Very nice, kapets easy !.
How exquisite is the fly!
Such a ball, I finally go nuts! Look how our Katka is like! – came from somewhere Markin voice.
– Only this beauty, and Katka is ours.
Well, so straight beauty! She is sexy, but you have to sit with such tits at home.
Attention! For the beautiful participants of the ball – flowers from Mr. Vyunkov, president of the company “Traviata”.
“La Traviata” is the calmness of your stomach !.
I adore Tchaikovsky and Leps! When they sound, I’m all so embraced.
Voices, music, sparkling chandeliers, outfits, faces, hairstyles merged into a motley bottomless confusion, buzzing in my head.
And let’s get the fuck out of here! BUT? Let’s go to the white nights! To the embankment! – said the Master, when they, tired and drunk, stood at the buffet table and chewed, which fell under the arm.
Katka has already managed to communicate with the jury, toss them with wits’ studs, which were poured out of her uncontrollable flow, and blow out two glasses of champagne.
The wine was drunk easily, like a sprite, and the green Katkin eyes were burning crazy.
Come on! But are you here like at work? Sort of.
Yes, I spat !.
Come on, Adel-Gimp, do not be afraid, you are with me.
– he brought Katka from the table, not looking at anyone, and dragged her to the exit.
The shower was over, and the air was filled with freshness, leaving the white night in the nacreous sky.
His purity and moisture twisted the brain, and Katka screamed: – Aaaaaaa! Iiiii! – and laughed, looking with bulging eyes at Hosu.
Yyyyyy! – He mocked her, and they rushed to the Fontanka, splashing puddles.
Everything around was wet, washed, swollen, like a sponge, everywhere there was water – on the pavement, and in the air, and on the trees, which poured over the odorous shower Katka with Khosei.
Fontanka was covered with a veil of fog, like a gas shawl.
A clouded, foggy light of the white night enveloped the embankments and the whole city, frozen and extinct after a rainstorm, and thick silence spread through the streets.
Yyyyyy! Uh-uh-hey! Ogogoooooo! – the fugitives tore at her shouting.
– Miiiaau! Rrrhav-woof-woof! – they were fooling around, and distant dogs from the invisible courtyards, gone into the fog, responded to them.
Aaaaaaa! – moaning Katka.
– I’m all
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wet! I’m like in the bathroom.
And I? I generally like Hippolyte in the shower !.
– the Host sang to her.
– “Scrub me back, sorry.
“And let the shoes nafig? Come on! – Katka squealed and slipped off, flopping her bare feet in a puddle.
wow! I’m barefoot, and you? – she growled at Khozu, and he unpacked from socks and shoes, saying, “Please temporarily not smell me,” then he rolled up his trousers and took two trial steps.
“They don’t, infection,” he murmured, trying to shove both couples in his pockets, “yours climbed in, and mine let them go!” He tied them with shoelaces and threw them on a branch.
Will you get it later? – asked Katka.
I do not know.
Forward! – The host gallantly bulged his elbow, inviting Katka, and they dignifiedly slapped the puddles of the embankment.
Defile did not last long: screaming, Katka pushed Khozu and ran away from him, heaving fountains of spray.
Ahhhh! He shouted, catching up with her.
– Now I understand why Fontanka! Because they run around here.
such wild, barefoot, wet beasts.
He panted, catching Katka by the waist.
– Look, the bridge! Let’s jump ?! – and he pictured lifted his foot over the railing.
– Yeah, yeah, believe it? Straaaaashno? You are a scoundrel! – pounded him in the side Katka.
– You’re a felon.
Won your academy – she showed on Rossi Street – I will lock you there, you will turn the fuete at your machine.
Dance me something! – she clapped her hands like a rajah, and the Host curved into a fucking pa.
One is bored! – he danced.
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