I thank everyone for their help and, exhausted, in full gloom back to our apartment. So that's how things are at the front. Tossing on his couch, suffering from lack of air and klopinyh bites, I spend a sleepless night. Just can not imagine what the reason for the failure. Here I am reminded of Professor Schmidt, our chief pathologist. Oh, he would help solve this mystery. First thing in the morning, go for it. Professor Schmidt, handsome, white-haired man with clear blue eyes, has retained its independent thinking and not be in the thrall of academic weaknesses such as arrogance and flattery. That is why I am drawn to it. He is a good friend and assistant, and from the very first minutes of the love we share common ideas and interests. Schmidt had already heard about our spinal surgery. I tell in detail how sad it was over, and ask him to carry out an autopsy to find out the true cause of death.
Village Street and Other Poems
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