Monday's lesson with elements of the dispute on the story of A. Rybakova "Unknown soldier." Anatoly Fishermen: Unknown Soldier

Objectives lesson:

• get acquainted with the personality of the writer,
• try to understand the psychological, moral motives of the behavior of people of different generations in the distant war years,
• talk about those changes in the nature of the main character that occur in the search process,
• to establish what reality forms the citizens and actions in it.

Registration:

• exhibition of books
• portrait of a writer
• candles
• poster with the characteristic of the main character,
• a poster with questions for dispute.

Epigraph:

I know any of my guilt is that others did not come from the war, in the fact that they are who older who remained there, and not about the same speech that I could not, they failed to save, not about Tom, but still, nevertheless, still ...

A. Tvardovsky.

During the classes

The introductory word of the teacher (against the background of Mozart's Music "Requiem". Candles are burning on the desks).

War ... The worst is the war. The most impossible is the war. The most unthinkable is the war.

When we pronounce this word, the heart is compressed from pain and horror. How many sorcelly tears, I endure justice, how many orphans and not born children. Our land is plentifully by blood. When the evening comes and twilight is condensed over Russian villages, the heart can see them. They are easy to steal native land. Dead, but alive. And a quiet melodic ringing is heard. And burn candles in their hands. They seem to say: "People, remember us!" Everlasting memory!

With these words, I would like to invite you to a wonderful meeting with smart, kind, beautiful book by A. Rybakova "Unknown Soldier."

(I inform the topic and objectives of the lesson).

Open the notebook and write the subject of the lesson. Who is he the author of the story "Unknown Soldier"?

Two students are told by the biography of A. Rybakov.

Teacher: The story "Unknown soldier" is the third book about Sergey Krasheninnikov, which make up the trilogy. Pay attention to the exhibition of books. I recommend that you contact the library and read the other, no less interesting works of A. Rybakov.

Trilogy- This is a literary work consisting of three independent works combined into one common ideological idea, the plot, the main characters.

Well, now we turn directly to the story.

1) Do you like the story? Is it easy to read it?

2) How is the story built? What is her composition? (In the story of 2 plots: 1) the usual weekdays of the construction team - this plot is conducted on the face of crumb;

2) In peaceful life invaded the long war. Such a composition helps the author brighter to show the link between the past and the present.)

4) How does this event help the author to merge two plots into a single whole? (Both plots are developing independently and as if independently of each other, but still we see the connection between these plots. The workers find the grave and, looking for the name of an unknown soldier, Sergei Krashennikov, and with him we will find out about the top five brave soldiers and about Dmitry Bokareva feat. Main event - Finding the grave reveals the connection of the past and modern, helps to understand how the generation of people is connected, shows the direct link of the past war with a modern peaceful life. The search for the name of the unknown soldier merge two narrations in one whole.)

Teacher:The author wanted to say that the searches of the dead were needed, they are needed not only to relatives, but also to all of us. Unnamed soldiers do not happen, each of them has a name, and it must be found. So how Sergey Krashinnikov did.

5) How did Krosh on the construction of the motorway? Who gave him advice? (Not entered the university, grandfather.)

6) How did Krosh be taken first to behave to learn anything about an unknown soldier? (He did not like)

7) Compare the thoughts and feelings of Krosh in chapters 6, 10, 26. (A desire to know the name of an unknown soldier, Krosh wants to bring the case to the end. And in the same chapter there is a dispute between the crumble and his comrades on whether it is necessary to recognize The name of the soldier. Krosh for the first time in life beats a man.)

8) So why did Krosh decided to bring his searches to the end, although no one demanded from him?

9) What tells the crumble about the grave of Smirnova Sophia Pavlovna, a woman who went to the grave and cared for her?

10) Remember the Krosha meeting with Natasha, which shows the documents remaining from the deceased soldier. What are these documents? Have they helped in identifying the name of an unknown soldier? (Photos, wet, pussy, with an embroidered letter "K", a lighter from the cartridge, a square from a children's lotto with a duck image.)

11) What other actions takes Krosh to establish the name of an unknown soldier? (Request in the military archive).

12) Who is he found with? (With Mikheev and Agapov, meets with Deputy Minister Strokkov, who got a list of all five soldiers. But first of all, Krosh enters the Alexandrovsky garden and sees the eternal flame on the grave of the unknown soldier. And even more wants to find out the name of the soldier, whose grave found builders).

- Consider the scene of the conversation crumb with Agaps by roles.

Teacher: Krosh is long and difficult, it establishes that the soldier of Krayushkin is buried in the grave. But the Mother of the Older Bokareva Chairman of the village council reports that her son's grave found. And before the crumble, there was a serious task - to tell Mother of the Bokareva that not her son was buried in the grave.

- I draw the scene of the conversation of the crumb of the Bokarev's mother.

- I ask the first issue of the dispute. To do this, I appeal to the poster on which questions are written for the dispute./ Attachment 1/

13) Lee was Sergei Krasheninnikov, which did not say the truth of Mother Bokareva? How do you think? What would you do in this situation? I would like you to subside on this issue.

Teacher:I also think Sergey is right. This is a lie, of course. But, obviously, the very "holy" lie, which sometimes really needs a person. Antonina Vasilyevna Bokareva saw the meaning of his life in being near his son - his grave. And take this grave from her - it means to take away life. The words Antonina Vasilyevna about her son echoes the poem of Nekrasov, who reads Grandfather Krosh.

The student reads the poem of Nekrasov:

Indion of the hypocritical cases
And any vulgarity and prose
Some I spied tears
Saints, sincere tears.
Then tears of poor mothers
They do not forget their children,
Dead on bloody Niva,
How not to understand the wing

His dreamed branches. 14) But is this question only puts A. Rybakov in his book? And is this question? Remember what CROC is constantly thinking? (The book sets the question of what we stand, whether we are worthy of those who died. The author wants to show what the new generation of people has grown. And we see that Sergey Krashennikov is worthy of continuing the case of fathers. Kolyushkin and his comrades, if they were alive, proud would be it.)

15) Remember how the surrounding Sergey people were treated first to his search? (A lot of people involved in search. These are different people: an old man Meheev, a journalist Agapov, Grandpa Krosh, deputy minister of pods. And in different ways they reacted to the search of the crumb. Voronov believes that this is not their business, trying to convince the searches. Many comrades At work, it is also incredulous about his venture. And only the grandfather approves a difficult thing for which grandson took up.)

16) How gradually changes the attitude of the people around the crumb? (Gradually, step by step, Sergey convinces people in the need for searches. The wall of distrust collapses, and now the Voronov himself offers Croha to take leave for a trip to Krasnoyarsk to Mother Bokareva, and comrades offer money on the road.)

Teacher:And in this universal approval of Sergei's searches, Meheev goes into the shadow and the evil fear of Meheev, essentially betrayed the death of one of the soldiers - Vaculin, and the bhamge of Agapov, who took the search for the sacred goals, and the indifference of the son of the deceased Soldier of Krasushkina. All these people are arguing, and put together, but open in front of themselves, as well as it comes to the soldiers' grave, and begin to measure themselves and other measures of higher civil morality. People look at themselves from the side, weigh ourselves on the scales of purity and truth. They get better, kinder, adult, as it happened with Croeshe and Zoya, the granddaughter of Krashushkin.

17) So, what do we see crumb, the main character of the story? Give it a characteristic. Then I open a poster on the board, and everyone is convinced of the correctness of their answers. (Attachment 1.)

Teacher: Write down the characteristic of Sergey Krasheninnikov herself in a notebook.

The second question of the dispute. I appeal to the board.(Attachment 1)

18) Are there such as Sergey Krasheninnikov, among us?

19) So what about A. Rybakov's book? (About our contemporary, young man, just enters into life holding a civil maturity exam.)

Teacher: We see that in the complex process of searching for the meaning of life, Krosh becomes a citizen Sergey Kraschinnikov and comes to the conclusion that it is necessary to be a person looking for, active and not forget the terrible years of a distant war.

The third issue of the dispute. I appeal to the board. (Attachment 1)

20) Do we need books about the war? Is the book of A. Rybakov today? (We are talking about the wars of our time, that in our time the soldiers disappear.)

Ring bells.

The teacher reads the epigraph - the words of A. Tvardovsky.

What does A. Twardovsky say about? (About memory.)

The teacher reads an excerpt from the poem of R. Christmas "Requiem".

Remember!
Through the century after year
Remember!
About those who no longer come
Remember!
Do not cry, in the throat, hold down the moans,
Bitter moans.
The memory of the fallen, be worthy,
Echno worthy!
Bread and song, dream and verses,
Life spacious
Every second, every breath
Be decent!
People! As long as the heart is knocking,
Remember!

What the price conquered happiness, please remember!

Questions to the dispute:

1. Is the right Krosh, which did not say the truth of the mother of the foreman of the brareva? What would you do in this situation?
2. Are there such as Sergey Krasheninnikov, among us?
3. Do we need books about war? Is Anatoly Rybakov's topical book today in our day?

The bulldozer stood in front of a small hormster, crumbling herbs. Around lying low, half-jogging stakenik.

Sidorov raised a faded wooden star from herb. The soldier's grave - it can be seen, remained from the war. She was dug away from the former road. But, laying a new one, we hidden the highway. And here the Bulldozer Andrei stumbled upon the grave.

Andrei sat in the cockpit, turned on the levers, the knife shook at the Hollyk.

- What are you doing? - Sidorov stood on a hilly.

"What," Andrei replied, "Consolidate ...

- I spend you! Said Sidorov.

- The difference to you, where he will lie: over the road, under the road? - asked the driver of Yura.

"You didn't lie in the ground, and I lay, maybe next to him," Sidorov said.

At this time, another dump truck drove up. From him came the raven, went to us, frowned:

- Stand?!

His eyes stopped at the grave, at the stakeholder; Someone has already gathered him in a bunch and put a faded star from above. On the face of Voronov, displeasure was reflected, he did not like delays, and the grave on the road is a delay. And he diswrong looked at us, as if we were to blame for the fact that the soldier was buried here.

Then he said to Andrey:

- Walk this place. Tomorrow I will send excavokers - transfer the grave.

Silent all the time Sidorov noticed:

- By the stake and in the star, I see someone, I would have to find the owner.

- We will be transferred to Kamchatka. The owner will come - will find. Yes, and there is no owner - everything has rotted, "answered Ravens.

- With it, documents may be or what material evidence, - insisted by Sidorov.

And crows gave way. For which, of course, Sidorov will have to pay back. Later. And while I paid it.

- Crashinnikov! Go to the city, ask, whose grave.

I was struck by such orders:

- Who will I ask?

- Who has local residents.

- Why me?

- Because you are local.

- I'm not from here.

- Anyway, you have a grandfather here, grandmother ...

"There is no grandmother who died," I answered gloomily.

"All the more, the old people," the crows continued with strange logic. - The city is all right, - he showed the tip of the nail, - Three streets ... You can find the host, ask: let them take away the grave, that we will help, we will carry out, and you will not find the owner, come in the morning at the military office: they say, they came across the grave, let them send Representative for opening and transfer. Understood? - He turned to Yura: - Hurry to his career, and it comes.

- And who will work for me? - I asked.

"We will find a replacement for your qualifications," the raven answered mockingly.

Such a Ham!

- Let's go! Said Yura.

... The second visiting the plane gave the machine gun service on the shaking flight and disappeared again, leaving the long, slow and sideways sliding to the ground a bluish smoke band.

Starin Bokarev rose, shakeped the earth with himself, pulled the gymnaster from behind, recovered the wide commander's belt and the bravery, turned the medal "for courage" on the front side and looked at the road.

Machines - two "zisa" and three two-weeks "GAZ-AA" - stood on the previous place, on the cafeteria, lonely among the unacceptable fields.

Then Vakulin rose, looked at the autumn, but the pure sky, and his subtle, young, completely another boy expressed bewilderment: Did you just fly the death on them twice?

Celecin stood up, smoked, wiped the rifle - a neat, experienced elderly soldier.

Spling a high, creapped wheat, Bokarev went deep into the field, frowned and finally saw Lykov and Ogorodnikov. They were still lying, clinging to the ground.

- Will we lie long?!

Lykov turned his head, screamed on the foreman, then looked at the sky, rose, holding a rifle in his hands, - a small, round, mordest soldier, "the philosophically said:

- According to the strategy and tactics, I will not fly here here.

- Strategy ... Tactics ... Rail a gymnaster, ordinary flashers!

- Gymnaster - it is possible. - Lykov removed and pulled the belt.

Gorodnikov rose - a powerful, representative driver with a belly, took off the pilot, wiped the bald head with a handkerchief, said weldfully:

- That's war, so that the planes flew and shoot. Moreover, we are going without disguise. Disorder.

The reproach This was addressed to Bokareva. But the foreman was impenetrable.

- Many arguing, ordinary gardens! Where is your rifle?

- in the cockpit.

- The weapon threw. The soldier is called! For such things - the tribunal.

"It is known," Gorodnikov snapped.

- Go to cars! - ordered Bokarev.

Everyone came out on an empty country road to their old, battered machines - two "zisam" and three half-gun.

Standing on the footboard, Lykov announced:

- Cabin flashed, reptile!

"He chased him specifically for you, Lykov," Kolyushkin noticed good-naturedly. - "Which, thinks, here on the liks? .." And Lykov Evon where to install ...

"Not a certificate, but dispersed," Lykov missed.

Bokarev, frowned, looked like robes covering the cabin and body with a fledged tree. Wants to prove his!

- By cars! Interval fifty meters! Keep!

Five kilometers in five, they turned out from the village and, the co-smoky shrub, drove into the young birch. A wooden arrow nailed to the tree with the inscription "Economy of Strokkov" pointed to low buildings of the thrown MTS, pressed against Kosoyrat.

- Prepare cars to surrender! - ordered Bokarev.

He took out a shoe brush and velvet from the seat and began to uprak his chrome boots.

- Comrade Starshina! - addressed him.

- What do you want?

- So what?

- In the city of ProdpunT, I say ...

- You have been issued dry pieces.

- And if they were not issued?

Bokarev realized finally, what his lips hints, looked at him.

Lykov raised his finger.

- The city is still ... Koryukov is called. Female floor is available. Civilization.

Bokarev wrapped the brush and ointment in the velvet, put under the seat.

- We take a lot on yourself, Private Lykov!

- I repeat the situation, Comrade Starin.

Bokarev reconciled the gymnaster, the belt, spoil, shook his finger under the novel, twisted the neck.

- And without you there is someone to make a decision!

The usual, famous painting picture of the PRB - a hiking and repair base, placed this time in the evacuated MTS. Rockies the motor on the stand, the soldering lamp sweats, the electric welding bursts; A locksmith in grinding overalls, under which gymnasters are visible, repair cars. Moving on monorail engine; He holds a locksmith; Another apparently mechanic sends the engine on the chassis.

The motor did not fit the place, and the mechanic ordered the brake:

- Well, a man, a foreman, begging!

- I have not yet proceeded to work, - Sliced \u200b\u200bBokarev. - Where is the commander?

- What is your commander?

- What ... Commander PRB.

- Captain Podkov?

- Captain Podkov.

- I am captain of the pods.

Bokarev was an experienced sentence. He could make a mistake without recognizing the commander of the commander of the part, but to recognize, play it or not, "he's not mistaken here. He was not played.

- She reports the foreman Bokarev. He arrived from a separate authot one hundred seventy-second rifle divisions. Delivered five cars to repair.

He was famously attached, then he threw his hand from the cap.

The pods mockingly inspected the Bocareva from the head to the legs, grinned his abded boots, his francity.

- Clean the car from the dirt to shine like your boots. Put under a canopy and proceed to the disassembly.

- Clear, Comrade Captain, will be fulfilled! Let me contact the comrade captain!

- What is the request?

- Comrade Captain! People with advanced, from day one. Let me go to the city, to wash it in the bath, send letters to buy something in little things. Tomorrow we will return, we work out - people are very asked.

Putting the last exam and graduating from school, Sergei Krasheninnikov arrives in a small town, to his grandfather. The young man begins to work in a construction team. Workers were engaged in the design and erection of roads. In the process of creating another road, the builders have discovered burial. It was resting soldiers. Sergey decides to know his name.

After long searches, Sergey learns a lot of interesting things from the history of the city. Military past left an indelible mark in the life of the whole of our country. Krasheninnikov, or simply Krosh, seriously approached the search for the information of the nameless soldier. In the end - ends, his efforts were not in vain. The young man established the identity of the military, resting in that grave.

The work teaches to remember the names of the heroes of that war. Thanks to them, we live.

Picture or drawing unknown soldier

Other retells for the reader diary

• Summary Colleagues Aksenov

  Three comrades only completed the Medical Institute in Leningrad. Friends were friendly, despite different temperament and character. Alexey Maximov - Ironic, sharp and wounded

• Summary Quarteronka Reed

  Edward was a young and carefree Englishman. For six months of living in Orleans, he managed to spend all his state. He has money left only to buy a steamer ticket

• Summary Karamzin Poor Lisa

  The story of Karamzin "Poor Lisa" begins with the author's story about his walks in the Moscow region. He describes a beautiful nature, admires views. Walking once again, he comes to the ruins of the monastery.

• Summary Remark Triumphal Arch

  The effect of the novel occurs during the Second World War, in France. The main hero is the fled German surgeon Ravik, who passed the first world war and secretly, without any documents and permission lives in France

• Brief content of Lermontov McSri briefly and heads

  At the very beginning, the poem explains that this place was the monastery in which such events occurred. Precise, the dilapidated buildings are still preserved, but there are no monks, only the latter here the old man carries in many graves.

Anatoly Rybakov

Unknown Soldier

In childhood, I went to the small town of Koryukov every summer, to the grandfather. We went to swim with him on Koryukovka, a non-trap, fast and deep river in three kilometers from the city. We undressed on the hill, covered with rare, yellow, hungry. From the state-called stable, the tart, pleasant smell of horses came. It was heard the crossing of the waters on the wooden flooring. Grandpa challenged her horse in the water and sailed next to him, grabbed the mane. His big head, with wet hair merging on his forehead, with a black gypsy beard, melded in a white foam of a little drill, next to a wildly joking horse eye. So, probably, they were transported through the Pecheneg rivers.

I am the only grandson, and my grandfather loves me. I also love him very much. He squeezed my childhood with good memories. They still worry and touched me. Even now, when he touches me with his wide, strong hand, my heart spishes.

I arrived in the Koryukov of the twentieth of August, after the final exam. Again got four. It became obvious that I would not do at the university.

Grandfather expected me on the platform. As I left him five children back, when the last time was in Koryukov. His short, thick beard slightly saddened, but a width face was still marble and white, and the brown eyes are the same living, as before. All the same wiped dark suit with pants, seasoned in boots. In boots, he walked in winter and summer. Once he taught me to wear a port tanks. The dexter movement twisted the port tunic, admired his work. Pat has tightened his boots, it is not because the boot is stuffed, and the pleasure that he sits on his leg.

With a feeling that I am performing a comic circus room, I climbed to the old bar. But no one looked at us on the station square. Grandpa went over in the hands of the entrance. The horse, the wretched head, ran from the place of Bodra Rynsty.

We drove along a new highway. At the entrance to Koriukov, the asphalt switched to my friendly cobbled bridge. According to the grandfather, the city must be asphalt himself, and the city does not have money.

- What are our income? Previously, the path passed, traded, the river was shipping - born. There was one case. There are horses! There are world celebrities. But the city from this has little.

To my failure to the University of Grandpa Titted philosophically:

- You will receive next year, you will not do next - you will do after the army. And all things.

And I was disappeared. Bad luck! "The role of lyrical landscape in the works of Saltykov-Shchedrin." Subject! After hearing my answer, the examiner stared at me, waited for the continuation. I had nothing to continue. I began to develop my own thoughts about Saltykov-Shchedrine. The examiner they were not interesting.

The same wooden houses with gardens and gardens, bazaarkik on the square, the store of Rapipotople, the dining room "Baikal", the school, the same age oaks along the street.

The new one was only the motorway for which we came again, having left the city to Conese. Here she was still built. He smoked hot asphalt; He was stacked by tanned guys in tarpaulin mittens. Girls in T-shirts, in the shrouded on the forehead scattered gravel. Bulldozers brilliant knives cut the ground. The buckets of excavators bought in the ground. Mighty technique, rumble and clanging, fell on the space. A residential trailers were standing on the sidelines - evidence of hiking life.

We surrendered to the cone the bunch and horse and went back the shore of Koriukovka. I remember how I was proud, first overlooked her. Now I would crossed her with one push from the shore. And the wooden bridge, from which I once jumped with a heart-fading heart, hung over the water itself.

On the path, still in a summer solid, seeds cracked from the heat, rustled under the legs of the first fallen leaves. Sheavers in the field, cracked grasshopper, lonely tractor raised chilly.

Previously, at this time I was leaving my grandfather, and the sadness of parting was mixed then with the joyful expectation of Moscow. But now I just came, and I did not want to go back.

I love my father and mother, respect them. But something broke the usual, changed in the house, it became annoying, even the little things. For example, Mamino appeal to familiar women in male genus: "dear" instead of "dear", "dear" instead of "dear." Something was in this unnatural, pretentious. As in the fact that her beautiful, black with a smart hair she painted in red-bronze color. What is for whom?

In the morning I woke up: Father, passing through the dining room, where I sleep, slapped slippers - shoes without backs. He caught them before, but then I woke up, and now I woke up from one premonition of this slamming, and then I could not fall asleep.

Every person has its own habits, not quite, maybe pleasant; You have to put up with them, you must try to each other. And I could not get up. Did I become a psycho?

I became uninteresting conversations about father and mother work. About people about which I heard for many years, but never seen. About some kind of township Svatushuk - the surname, hated by me since childhood; I was ready to strangle this Savitukov. Then it turned out that Savitukov should not strangle, on the contrary, it is necessary to defend, his place can take the much worse spirits. Conflicts at work are inevitable, stupid to talk about them all the time. I got up because of the table and left. It offended old men. But I could not do anything with me.

It was all the more surprising that we were, as they say, frough family. Quarrels, disorders, scandals, divorces, courts and charges - we did not have anything and could not be. I never deceived my parents and knew that they were not deceiving me. What they hid from me, considering me small, I perceived condescendingly. This naive parental misconception is better than the snobby frankness, which someone considers the current method of upbringing. I am not a hunger, but in some things there is a distance between children and parents, there is a sphere in which restraint should be observed; It does not interfere with any friendship or confidence. So always it was in our family. And suddenly I wanted to leave the house, clogged into some hole. Maybe I'm tired of exams? Heavyly worried about failure? The old men were not reproached to me, but I led, deceived their expectation. Eighteen years old, and I'm sitting on their neck. I was ashamed to ask even a movie. Previously, there was a prospect - university. But I could not achieve what tens of thousands of other guys are achieved, annually entering higher educational institutions.

Old bent Viennese chairs in a small grandfather house. Scroll under the legs, the rinsing floorings, the paint places were placed on them, and its layers are visible - from dark brown to yellowish-white. On the walls of the photo: The grandfather in the cavalry form holds in the horse, grandfather - a charmer, next to him two boys - jockeius, his sons, my uncle, are also held in the occasion of horses, famous ruins, climbed by the grandfather.

Adventure Cross - 3

In childhood, I went to the small town of Koryukov every summer, to the grandfather. We went to swim with him in Koryukovka, unintelligible, fast and

deep river in three kilometers from the city. We undressed on the hill, covered with rare, yellow, hungry. From the state-called stable converged

tart, pleasant smell of horses. It was heard the crossing of the waters on the wooden flooring. Grandpa challenged her horse in the water and sailed next to him

casting for the mane. His big head, with wet hair merging on his forehead, with a black gypsy beard, flashed in white foam of little

buruna, next to a wildly joining horse eye. So, probably, they were transported through the Pecheneg rivers.
I am the only grandson, and my grandfather loves me. I also love him very much. He squeezed my childhood with good memories. They still worry

and touch me. Even now, when he touches me with his wide, strong hand, my heart spishes.
I arrived in the Koryukov of the twentieth of August, after the final exam. Again got four. It became obvious that I am not

i will do.
Grandfather expected me on the platform. As I left him five children back, when the last time was in Koryukov. His short thick

beard slightly saddened, but the width face was still marble and white, and the brown eyes are the same living, as before. All the same witch

dark suit with pants, refilled in boots. In boots, he walked in winter and summer. Once he taught me to wear a port tanks. Lot motion

twisted the port, admired his work. Pat has tightened his boots, firing not because the boot is stuck, and from the pleasure that he sits so

on the foot.
With a feeling that I am performing a comic circus room, I climbed to the old bar. But no one drew on the station square

us of attention. Grandpa went over in the hands of the entrance. The horse, the wretched head, ran from the place of Bodra Rynsty.
We drove along a new highway. At the entrance to Koriukov, the asphalt switched to my friendly cobbled bridge. According to grandfather,

the city should be asphalt himself, and the city has no funds.
- What are our income? Previously, the path passed, traded, the river was shipping - born. There was one case. There are horses! World

celebrities are. But the city from this has little.
To my failure to the University of Grandpa Titted philosophically:
- You will receive next year, you will not do next - you will do after the army. And all things.
And I was disappeared. Bad luck! "The role of lyrical landscape in the works of Saltykov-Shchedrin." Subject! After listening to my answer,

the examiner stared at me, waited for the continuation. I had nothing to continue. I began to develop my own thoughts about Saltykov-Shchedrine.

The examiner they were not interesting.
The same wooden houses with gardens and gardens, bazaarkik on the square, the store of Rapipotreus, the dining room "Baikal", the school, the same century oaks

along the street.
The new one was only the motorway for which we came again, having left the city to Conese. Here she was still built. Smoked

hot asphalt; He was stacked by tanned guys in tarpaulin mittens. Girls in T-shirts, in the shrouded on the forehead scattered gravel.

Bulldozers brilliant knives cut the ground. The buckets of excavators bought in the ground. Mighty technique, rumble and clanging, fell on the space.