Every person who gets there wants...1860, Russia (nowadays composted), no great things to progress. They didn’t even give me a lot of money, but they plunged me into massive debts and sent me to the very bottom of my reputation. The “damn lieutenant” (sometimes, more culturally, “black”) is outraged for his shameful behavior beyond the roof, and the fact that he is the son of a count is even worse. How can you assemble a Kalash on your knee in such conditions, when you are rejected and even kicked out of the army in disgrace, forbidden to wear a military uniform? So we don’t need any riveters. I'll go to a quick hairdryer. Mimicrocodiles - follow me! For the rest, hang up./ I went to look for pianos, I’m very curious what will happen next /)))