“...Sometimes I woke up in the middle of the night and looked carefully at her oval, soft face and thought how appearances could be deceiving, how so much will and courage was hidden in this small and fragile body. I carefully and carefully fingered her dark brown hair, bitterly ran my palm over her delicate skin and thought that, perhaps, I was simply flawed, that I needed some other woman, kind and flexible, who would look into my mouth and fulfill my little men's whims. So that I would enter the house, slowly take off my shoes, carefully wash my hands in the bathroom, solemnly sit down at the table, and she would be in an apron, smiling, telling me: “Anton, dinner is ready.” But Sveta was always somewhere there, far away... »