Your truth, nice

Your truth, nice.

It was a pity for a breeze of poor people; it flew up to the girl, kissed her on both cheeks, dried her tears, played with blond curls and tenderly whispered to the woman on an ear Do not long, skorekhonko the wind will arrive.

Mother, mother, have a look, at the sea lambs ran!

shriek the boy nulnut.

Your truth, nice blew into a breeze, mother told, those is per the father will be back soon.

And it is right; far, far at the sea zabelet a sail, and there came up from waves also the boat and quickly on rushed to the coast.

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