He rushed into the ranks of the sailors, his shoulders against the rain of fists, and his own military exploits, knocking the sailors on their backs. The war was rather a happy play. The workers were not afraid. They were confident and courageous. They had strength. The workers were pushed against the gate by the swarming crowd, and the door panels squeaked with the sound of members of the Central Committee, and people shouted in a hubbub: "Hit that bald official." Two others climbed to the roof and began to sing happily on the roof: "We are not pickpockets, we are not robbers, we are fishing by boat.". The members of the Central Committee got up with the beep of the police siren, and the brass buckles on the police uniforms flashed everywhere in the darkness, stepping on the muddy ground. We cast our nets to the shore. To the spoon store, the warehouse, the warehouse.. Stop it. Don't hit the person lying down. "Grandpa.". Be careful. Rubertsov and I waited for five people to be arrested and wanted to take us to the police station. In the late autumn night, the witty singing was seeing us off: Ha ha, forty fish were enough to make a fish skin coat. Rubertsov praised the people on the Volga River. His eyes were excited. He kept blowing his nose and spitting sleep foam. He also reminded me: "You run away quickly.". Run away when you have a chance. I saw the opportunity to jump over the low walls, shake off the tall sailors and escape, but since then, I have never seen this lively, lovely,glass cream jars, enthusiastic old man. My friends left me one by one, and my life became more empty and boring. College students are really starting to make a student movement, but I do not understand the motivation of the student movement, nor do I understand the meaning of the student movement, only to see their fanatical devotion to work. They did not realize the cruelty or sadness of the struggle. My strongest desire is to enjoy the right to study like a college student. If I were allowed to study now, but I had to be beaten in Nikolayev Square every Sunday as a price, I think I could accept it. One day I went to the Seminov Bakery,30ml Dropper Bottle, and the workers there actually wanted to go to the school and beat the students. Let's hit them with a weight. One of them said ferociously. I tried my best to obstruct their action, and finally they would fight. But I don't seem to be doing this intentionally to defend college students, and I can't even find any reason to defend them. Dejected, I trudged out of the basement of the bakery, heartbroken. I was so depressed that I came to the bank of Kaban River in the evening and threw stones into the flowing water to ask the way. If I could really find a way, it would be good. My mind was filled with the question, 'What should I do?' There was no answer. To distract my energy, I began to learn to play the violin. So there was a story in the bakery, and every night people and mice no longer had a peaceful life. I have a strong preference for music, so I am very enthusiastic about learning it, but something happened that shouldn't have happened. One night, my violin teacher in the theater team opened my unlocked money box while I was out, and my money filled his pockets. At that moment, Oil Dropper Bottle ,Plastic Spray Bottles Wholesale, I came back, and he gave me his blue face from the ground and said, "Go ahead." Tears ran down his dull cheeks and his mouth trembled. I really want to beat him up. How can he do such a cheap thing. I suppressed my anger, put my clenched fist under my buttocks, and ordered him to put the money back. "Give me ten roubles," the fool suddenly shouted as he left. OK The musician and the money left together, and the matter of learning the piano fell through. In December of this year, I had made up my mind to commit suicide. In order to explain the reason for my suicide, I wrote an article called "Makar Life Incident". The writing is extremely unsuccessful and the content lacks authenticity, but perhaps it is this that forms the value of the article. The events described in it are objective, but it seems that they have nothing to do with me. Well, at any rate, I am satisfied with one thing about myself: I can handle myself to a certain extent. My suicide was as bad as my article. The old pistol didn't go through my heart, it went through another part of my body: my lungs. In this way, in just one month, I was ashamed to return to my post in the bakery. I haven't been working long. One night at the end of March, I met a familiar person in the salesgirl's room: Hohol.
He sat by the window, smoking a thick cigarette and looking at the smoke in front of him. Do you have a minute? He went straight to the point without so much as a polite remark. Twenty minutes. "Then, sit down.". Let's talk about it. He was dressed like a Cossack as before, with a dazzling golden beard flowing down his broad chest, short hair neatly cut under his willful and stubborn forehead, and a pair of peasant boots with a bad smell of rubber at his feet. Hey. Would you like to go to my place? I now live in the village of Krasnovidovo, about 45 kilometers along the Volga River. I run a small grocery store. You can help me sell goods. Don't worry. You have enough time to read my good book, okay? "Okay." "How refreshing.". Then please come to the Kurbatov dock at six o'clock on Friday morning and ask about the boat from our village. The boatman is Vasily Vankov. Hi. In fact, you needn't bother. I'll be waiting for you there. Goodbye He quickly ended my conversation with him, holding out his big hand to say goodbye to me, and taking out his clumsy silver watch and saying, "I only talked to him for six minutes.". Right. My name is Mikhail Antonov. His last name is Romas. He took a long step, threw his arms, and walked away without looking back. Two days later, I went to the appointment. At that time, the Volga River had just thawed, and countless vulnerable ice blocks were floating on the muddy surface of the river. The ship ploughed through the ice, and the ice was torn apart. The waves whirled with the wind, and the glass-like ice reflected the light of the sun. I sailed with the wind in his boat, which carried a lot of goods: barrels, bags, boxes. Helmsman Fan is a well-dressed young farmer, with beautiful patterns embroidered on the sheepskin. He looked calm, his eyes were a little cold, he didn't like to talk,Uv Gel Nail Polish Bottle, and he didn't look like a farmer. His employee, Kurshkin, was a real farmer. penghuangbottle.com