Historical chronicles of the Illuminati
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Armanda Daumal did not like the idea of Mokrukh, but he did not like everything that he heard about the king. He was prudent in this matter. He leaned over the table and began to explain amiably:
- Georges, ”he said,“ Georges. ” Georges. I know this is true. And you know that this is true. Even my donkey and the pig of my gardener already know that this is true. But you do not say such things about the king. This is no longer Rouen, Georges. Do not say similar things in Paris.
Georges looked even dirty and battered than Armand, but still deviated back, because Armanda smelled worse.
“Jesus,” he answered, “Jesus Marya Christ.” You are too nervous, Armand. There is no one except the innkeeper, and he, damn it, went to the other end of the room. No need to be so nervous, Armand.
- Listen, Georges, ”said Armand,“ this is fucking Paris. ” Paris. Here the walls have ears. I’m more clear: I hope you heard about the damn Sardines? He has more Mouches than the flea at the hounds. This is what he has. This Sardines, Georges, eats the guys like us for breakfast. And the fucking Corsicans for lunch.
- Listen, guys, - Azhenen interrupted them affectionately smiling, “let"s not draw each other in the ass, huh? We are here in order to drink, or in order to fight? Do you want this, guys? I still think, we are here in order to drink.
“We are here to drink,” Armand answered, “until Pierre comes.”
- Then let"s drink, okay? - said Lucien smiling.
Lucien had a friendly, cheerful, honest face of a peasant who successfully puffed up the owner of Manor, seduced the mistress and ran away, taking with him their best silver dishes. Georges, on the other hand, had a arrogant, puzzled, thieves" face of a peasant who tried to repeat all these tricks, but each time was caught and beaten. Armand looked just like a dog lifting sheep
- Georges, ”he said,“ Georges. ” Georges. I know this is true. And you know that this is true. Even my donkey and the pig of my gardener already know that this is true. But you do not say such things about the king. This is no longer Rouen, Georges. Do not say similar things in Paris.
Georges looked even dirty and battered than Armand, but still deviated back, because Armanda smelled worse.
“Jesus,” he answered, “Jesus Marya Christ.” You are too nervous, Armand. There is no one except the innkeeper, and he, damn it, went to the other end of the room. No need to be so nervous, Armand.
- Listen, Georges, ”said Armand,“ this is fucking Paris. ” Paris. Here the walls have ears. I’m more clear: I hope you heard about the damn Sardines? He has more Mouches than the flea at the hounds. This is what he has. This Sardines, Georges, eats the guys like us for breakfast. And the fucking Corsicans for lunch.
- Listen, guys, - Azhenen interrupted them affectionately smiling, “let"s not draw each other in the ass, huh? We are here in order to drink, or in order to fight? Do you want this, guys? I still think, we are here in order to drink.
“We are here to drink,” Armand answered, “until Pierre comes.”
- Then let"s drink, okay? - said Lucien smiling.
Lucien had a friendly, cheerful, honest face of a peasant who successfully puffed up the owner of Manor, seduced the mistress and ran away, taking with him their best silver dishes. Georges, on the other hand, had a arrogant, puzzled, thieves" face of a peasant who tried to repeat all these tricks, but each time was caught and beaten. Armand looked just like a dog lifting sheep
Author:
Author:Wilson Robert Anton
Cover:
Cover:Hard
Category:
- Category:Politics & Social Science
- Category:Psychology
- Category:Reference books
Publication language:
Publication Language:Russian
ISBN:
ISBN:978-5-519-66873-6
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