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Rotating the cigarette case in my hands, I watched in a detached way as the smoke from Astakhov's cigarette was carried away through the half-open window, replacing the tobacco smell with evening freshness.

For myself, I never decided whether I did the right thing with Yegor, in the sense that I went to him, and indeed, but meeting with him, especially his words, left me with an unpleasant aftertaste.

So much love for you... It was... When everything was simple and clear, when only my brother was between us, and now... Now there was a staged death between us, arranged not by me, and a prison that Yegor built with his own hands , driving it into my head that I sold out, and even killed my brother, so as not to interfere with my happiness.

So think that you know someone ... We are sometimes a mystery to ourselves, so what can we say about others.

The sun was setting, but Astakhov faithfully held on to his glasses, like an incognito crawling over me with his eyes, like an ant. I think he