The nausea drives to a throat. The philosopher already is bent half-and-half and publishes vjakajushchie sounds. Grey as
soldier's catch a cold, Tvilit leans a hand about a wall and pants. In a head there is a strange heavy rumble. From it there is
no place to get to. But very much it would be desirable to escape. It is unimportant, where. If only FROM HERE. The whole
group shtrafnikov already runs without assorting road. As in a cheap computer game all of them fall one after another
zamertvo on a roadway. From the distant end of street the whole crowd shtrafnikov which have got before far deep into
comes nearer. Basically it - "genomusor". Some stop and bljujut. Others do the same on the move, without paying attention
to how the fetid swill spreads on clothes. The third lay down arms and rush ahead of all. But in process of approach their
numbers thin more and more. To a canopy where She and the others have sat down, reach schitannye units.