Police! - have told in a tube.
Police?. At station of Bologna, in a waiting room, near to an exit from platforms, the brown leather suitcase drawn by belts is
left. In a suitcase there is a coupled delayed-action bomb, Explosion is dated by the time of arrival of the express train from
Milan. Take measures.
Who speaks? - Have unperturbably asked in a tube.
Nostradamus.
Has not understood...
Nostradamus.
Has not understood...
Consider, please, - the bomb detonator is put on neizvlekaemost.
At your order fifty five minutes...
I again was on kitchen, but did not lie any more, and sat, privalivshis to a hooting refrigerator, and a receiver, often cheeping,
hung nearby on an elastic cord. I did not have forces to put it back. Where I was going to call? To whom? Still never in a life
to me was so badly. Smelt as fresh young cucumbers, and the watery smell turned them me inside out. Precisely in Klimon-
beat, "Mad Hans" starts to smell as cucumbers only in small concentration, at a stage of steam clearing. I saw two pale,
long-haired, is appreciable nervous young men in jeans and leather jackets with pogonchikami which, having put a suitcase
at the scratched wall, suddenly - hasty looking back - have walked to an exit. Bologna. Station.
The express train from Milan. It was riding, "an essence puncture", the real, - deep, bright, tearing apart unprepared
consciousness. Now I understood, why Beklin so persistently insisted on investigatory experiment. "The star group" - if not
everything, then, a handful of "capital letters" was necessary to it.
He has categorically demanded: - All should be in the same way. I will sit down instead of the dead man, and let they entirely
will concentrate on me.
The Cherub was the dead man. It was lost on the past radenii, one month ago, during meditation and attempt to release the
soul from a stirring corporal cover. A stroke, a hemorrhage in a brain. More than any traces. It had a hypertension, and the
long nervous tension has been counter-indicative to it.