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Alice Clover

sleeping angel

All events described in the book are fictitious.

Any coincidence of characters, their names, biographies with real people is accidental and unintentional.

You try to make you believe in all of his lies
It"s been a long, long, long, long, long, long time
Long time life

Depeche Mode

The inevitability of the end, the instantaneous transition from being to non-existence, the gaping entrance to the crucible of trials, the possibility of sliding into the abyss every minute - such is human existence.

Victor Hugo "The Man Who Laughs"

You can't escape the darkness. She always follows you.

Fable Master of Shadows

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.

Carl Gustav Jung * * *

He was very close, perhaps sitting motionless in the deep leather armchair opposite the bed, looking at me, wondering how best to deal with me now. Calmly, not hurrying and not succumbing to panic or a momentary impulse to strangle me right here, he looked at me, as if at a rare forest animal that had accidentally fallen into his snares. He could keep me captive, but that was not enough for him. I could imagine his confusion and frustration, his attempts calculate me, search best options. They were not, and that is why nothing happened - hour after hour Andre remained for me only a rustle, a breath of wind in the still air of the room, a quiet sigh, from which I was covered with a cold sweat.

How much more time do I have?

At first it was scary that I could not think calmly. Andre grabbed me, twisted my arms behind my back and covered my mouth with his hand to stop me from screaming. A few hours ago all this would have been a game, but now it was happening for real. I was lying on the bed, as I was - in house trousers in a cage and in a T-shirt. The tied hands hurt unbearably, the legs were less strained. There was no way I could change my body position - spread out, blindfolded, I lost orientation in time and space. There was no gag, but it wasn't needed. Who would hear us here? Only my cat, but Andre didn’t have to be afraid of him.

How much time has passed? Few hours? For the first hour, I was just shaking feverishly with fear, and I couldn’t do anything about it, but it turns out that even fear can get tired. It seemed to me that I felt warmth from Andre’s body, but then I was suddenly afraid that he had left long ago, and I was lying here alone, and I would lie like that until... until... No, I forbade myself to think about it “for now.” Sometimes I would inhale noisily through my nose and then I would smell the subtle smell of Chinese menthol oil, which Andre used to lubricate my hand with so that the tattoo would heal faster. The tattoo had been in order for a long time, but Andre clearly liked to take care of me, and I liked it too, so I did not stop these impulses in any way, only sometimes I was angry that my fiancé treated my body as a fetish. I said that I was still a person, and not his doll, and then Andre began to laugh. I was offended, but he kissed me on the nose and assured me that he would not forget for a minute that my body is a vessel with a soul and mind.

Now I understood that he was telling the truth. He always remembered this, and now he was more interested in what was in my head: my thoughts, my memory and everything I know. The body lay tired, empty, unnecessary. I was both afraid and hoping that Andre hadn’t left and left me here alone.

I no longer screamed, did not fight and did not ask to untie my hands or open my eyes, I knew that he would not do this. Andre caught me red-handed, I crossed the line, and everything changed. He suddenly became so calm, thoughtful and quiet, like a warlock before a sacrifice. He didn’t ask me what exactly I was looking for on the Internet and why the recently deceased hacker, Dick White, became so interesting to me. Andre asked me why I didn't believe him. He was not interested in what my ex-boyfriend Seryozha is dead. Andre asked if I loved him even for one day? I was silent and crying, tears flowing from under the dark fabric of the bandage that Andre used to blindfold me. The dense, anatomically curved mask prevented me from peeking, and finally, after all our games and foreplay, my helplessness and despair became real, authentic. I was scared to death, I was afraid of death, I was afraid of Andre.

At some point, when I lost track of time and almost dozed off - monstrously, but fatigue took its toll - Andre sat down with me on the bed to which I was tied and stroked my hair. I jerked with my whole body, but only to cry out in pain in hands tied. Then we were silent for a long time. I gave up first.

“Let me go,” I asked in a broken whisper, and then Andre made a sound as if he was choking on air. Nothing else. Perhaps he really left.

Beauty and the beast rolled into one. My Andre, my handsome prince - he acted on me like a drug, bewitching me with his serious face, amazing magnetic gaze, the relaxed gait of a man who does not know what pain is. A tall, young man with excellent posture, radiant with health, full of thirst for life, he always looked in a way that seemed to burn right through you. He knew what he wanted - he wanted me, and I melted at the thought. Who wouldn't melt?! He embodied everything that one could look for in a man, he had everything that I had ever dreamed of. Even now, there was a part of me that desperately clung to the plot of the old fairy tale, and I told myself that maybe if I kissed him just one more time... Maybe I should have let him explain...

My beautiful killer. Now I understood: he killed Seryozha. Maybe he killed Dick White too. If not himself, then at least he knew about this murder, had something to do with it, maybe he ordered it. How it's done? How can you sit like this at some small table in a small Parisian cafe and place an order - first for a cup of coffee, then for a person. Oh yeah, Andre doesn't drink coffee.

He will kill me too. He just needs time. He needs to decide how...

One thing I did not doubt - he really loved me. Otherwise it was impossible to explain how long he thought and did nothing. All this endless night, Andre just sat, looked at me and thought. About what? Maybe about keeping me alive after all? He loved me. Moreover, he wanted to own me, and therefore now it was difficult for him to simply erase me from his life and from his memory. It was much easier with Seryozha, he hated him. I suddenly remembered that evening when we stood in the library at his mother’s house, and Andre’s eyes burned with undisguised hatred.

Genre:

Book description: The main character This love story is Dasha. She managed to escape from the shackles of her ex-fiance in order to get the opportunity to go to his mother in St. Petersburg. She is going to protect her from the danger that lies ahead. After all, a cruel man who is already very close is preparing to kill her. The girl gathered all the facts together in order to be sure that her mother was in serious danger. An unpleasant picture had already formed in her head. However, she does not even suspect who the real killer might be.

In modern times active struggle with piracy, most of the books in our library have only brief fragments for review, including the book Tender tongues flame. Sleeping angel. Thanks to this, you can understand whether you like this book and whether you should buy it in the future. Thus, you support the work of the writer Alice Clover by legally purchasing the book if you liked its summary.

Alice Clover

sleeping angel

All events described in the book are fictitious.

Any similarity between characters, their names, and biographies with real people is accidental and unintentional.

You try to make you believe in all of his lies
It"s been a long, long, long, long, long, long time
Long time life

Depeche Mode

The inevitability of the end, the instantaneous transition from being to non-existence, the gaping entrance to the crucible of trials, the possibility of sliding into the abyss every minute - such is human existence.

Victor Hugo "The Man Who Laughs"

You can't escape the darkness. She always follows you.

Fable Master of Shadows

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people.

Carl Gustav Jung * * *

He was very close, perhaps sitting motionless in the deep leather armchair opposite the bed, looking at me, wondering how best to deal with me now. Calmly, not hurrying and not succumbing to panic or a momentary impulse to strangle me right here, he looked at me, as if at a rare forest animal that had accidentally fallen into his snares. He could keep me captive, but that was not enough for him. I could imagine his confusion and frustration, his attempts calculate me, looking for the best options. They were not there, and that is why nothing happened - hour after hour Andre remained for me only a rustle, a breath of wind in the still air of the room, a quiet sigh that made me break out in a cold sweat.

How much more time do I have?

At first it was scary that I could not think calmly. Andre grabbed me, twisted my arms behind my back and covered my mouth with his hand to stop me from screaming. A few hours ago all this would have been a game, but now it was happening for real. I was lying on the bed, as I was - in house trousers in a cage and in a T-shirt. The tied hands hurt unbearably, the legs were less strained. There was no way I could change my body position - spread out, blindfolded, I lost orientation in time and space. There was no gag, but it wasn't needed. Who would hear us here? Only my cat, but Andre didn’t have to be afraid of him.

How much time has passed? Few hours? For the first hour, I was just shaking feverishly with fear, and I couldn’t do anything about it, but it turns out that even fear can get tired. It seemed to me that I felt warmth from Andre’s body, but then I was suddenly afraid that he had left long ago, and I was lying here alone, and I would lie like that until... until... No, I forbade myself to think about it “for now.” Sometimes I would inhale noisily through my nose and then I would smell the subtle smell of Chinese menthol oil, which Andre used to lubricate my hand with so that the tattoo would heal faster. The tattoo had been in order for a long time, but Andre clearly liked to take care of me, and I liked it too, so I did not stop these impulses in any way, only sometimes I was angry that my fiancé treated my body as a fetish. I said that I was still a person, and not his doll, and then Andre began to laugh. I was offended, but he kissed me on the nose and assured me that he would not forget for a minute that my body is a vessel with a soul and mind.

Now I understood that he was telling the truth. He always remembered this, and now he was more interested in what was in my head: my thoughts, my memory and everything I know. The body lay tired, empty, unnecessary. I was both afraid and hoping that Andre hadn’t left and left me here alone.

I no longer screamed, did not fight and did not ask to untie my hands or open my eyes, I knew that he would not do this. Andre caught me red-handed, I crossed the line, and everything changed. He suddenly became so calm, thoughtful and quiet, like a warlock before a sacrifice. He didn’t ask me what exactly I was looking for on the Internet and why the recently deceased hacker, Dick White, became so interesting to me. Andre asked me why I didn't believe him. He was not interested in the fact that my ex-boyfriend Seryozha was dead. Andre asked if I loved him for at least one day? I was silent and crying, tears flowing from under the dark fabric of the bandage that Andre used to blindfold me. The dense, anatomically curved mask prevented me from peeking, and finally, after all our games and foreplay, my helplessness and despair became real, authentic. I was scared to death, I was afraid of death, I was afraid of Andre.

At some point, when I lost track of time and almost dozed off - monstrously, but fatigue took its toll - Andre sat down with me on the bed to which I was tied and stroked my hair. I jerked with my whole body, but only to cry out from the pain in my tied hands. Then we were silent for a long time. I gave up first.

“Let me go,” I asked in a broken whisper, and then Andre made a sound as if he was choking on air. Nothing else. Perhaps he really left.

Beauty and the beast rolled into one. My Andre, my handsome prince - he acted on me like a drug, bewitching me with his serious face, amazing magnetic gaze, the relaxed gait of a man who does not know what pain is. A tall, young man with excellent posture, radiant with health, full of thirst for life, he always looked in a way that seemed to burn right through you. He knew what he wanted - he wanted me, and I melted at the thought. Who wouldn't melt?! He embodied everything that one could look for in a man, he had everything that I had ever dreamed of. Even now, there was a part of me that desperately clung to the plot of the old fairy tale, and I told myself that maybe if I kissed him just one more time... Maybe I should have let him explain...

My beautiful killer. Now I understood: he killed Seryozha. Maybe he killed Dick White too. If not himself, then at least he knew about this murder, had something to do with it, maybe he ordered it. How it's done? How can you sit like this at some small table in a small Parisian cafe and place an order - first for a cup of coffee, then for a person. Oh yeah, Andre doesn't drink coffee.

He will kill me too. He just needs time. He needs to decide how...

One thing I did not doubt - he really loved me. Otherwise it was impossible to explain how long he thought and did nothing. All this endless night, Andre just sat, looked at me and thought. About what? Maybe about keeping me alive after all? He loved me. Moreover, he wanted to own me, and therefore now it was difficult for him to simply erase me from his life and from his memory. It was much easier with Seryozha, he hated him. I suddenly remembered that evening when we stood in the library at his mother’s house, and Andre’s eyes burned with undisguised hatred.

“The very thought that someone was with you other than me kills me.”

He wanted to kill him, it wasn't just a wish, it became a plan of action. I could not say exactly how it all happened and what happened, but I could guess. Theories were all I could afford. Seryozha saw Dick Whiter. When? How? I tried to reconstruct that day minute by minute. My hands hurt unbearably, making it difficult to think, but I pushed the pain into the background, pushed it into the top drawer of the dresser, closed the room with pain, threw the key into the water of a huge lake. This kind of meditation gave me a little respite.

I was standing downstairs in the hall when Seryozha came running. “It will be a surprise,” he said. - Come with me!" Before that, he was absent. Looks like he's gone for napkins. How long was he gone? Seems like quite a long time. During this time, he not only found napkins, but also a gallery located in a completely different, non-guest part of the house. The gallery in Gabrielle’s house is so far away that you can’t just wander into it by chance on the way to the kitchen. Andre wasn't there either, and I had no idea where he was. I was next to my mother, at least most of the time.

So, everything happened right then. Seryozha saw Dick Whiter, and Andre immediately signed his death warrant. Why? Only because of this! Seryozha saw that a hacker, a criminal wanted all over the world - Dick White - was living comfortably in the house of a noble French family.

So, this is why Andre provoked this whole farewell scene. He probably decided that this would be the easiest way to separate us. First he took me away, and later, near the hospital, Andre met Seryozha. Perhaps this happened by accident. May be. I was just making guesses based on bits of facts. Taking into account the video recording that was shown to me at the police station. Drunk Seryozha, full of questions and the desire to fight. This is an ideal opportunity. How easy it must be to deal with a drunk. And yet... Andre left, practically without laying a finger on Seryozha. And then Seryozha simply disappeared.

Alice Clover

sleeping angel

All events described in the book are fictitious.

Any similarity between characters, their names, and biographies with real people is accidental and unintentional.

You try to make you believe in all of his lies

It"s been a long, long, long, long, long, long time

Long time life

Depeche Mode

The inevitability of the end, the instantaneous transition from being to non-existence, the gaping entrance to the crucible of trials, the possibility of sliding into the abyss every minute - such is human existence.

Victor Hugo "The Man Who Laughs"

You can't escape the darkness. She always follows you.

Fable Master of Shadows

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people .

Carl Gustav Jung

He was very close, perhaps sitting motionless in the deep leather armchair opposite the bed, looking at me, wondering how best to deal with me now. Calmly, not hurrying and not succumbing to panic or a momentary impulse to strangle me right here, he looked at me, as if at a rare forest animal that had accidentally fallen into his snares. He could keep me captive, but that was not enough for him. I could imagine his confusion and frustration, his attempts calculate me, looking for the best options. They were not there, and that is why nothing happened - hour after hour Andre remained for me only a rustle, a breath of wind in the still air of the room, a quiet sigh that made me break out in a cold sweat.

How much more time do I have?

At first it was scary that I could not think calmly. Andre grabbed me, twisted my arms behind my back and covered my mouth with his hand to stop me from screaming. A few hours ago all this would have been a game, but now it was happening for real. I was lying on the bed, as I was - in house trousers in a cage and in a T-shirt. The tied hands hurt unbearably, the legs were less strained. There was no way I could change my body position - spread out, blindfolded, I lost orientation in time and space. There was no gag, but it wasn't needed. Who would hear us here? Only my cat, but Andre didn’t have to be afraid of him.

How much time has passed? Few hours? For the first hour, I was just shaking feverishly with fear, and I couldn’t do anything about it, but it turns out that even fear can get tired. It seemed to me that I felt warmth from Andre’s body, but then I was suddenly afraid that he had left long ago, and I was lying here alone, and I would lie like that until... until... No, I forbade myself to think about it “for now.” Sometimes I would inhale noisily through my nose and then I would smell the subtle smell of Chinese menthol oil, which Andre used to lubricate my hand with so that the tattoo would heal faster. The tattoo had been in order for a long time, but Andre clearly liked to take care of me, and I liked it too, so I did not stop these impulses in any way, only sometimes I was angry that my fiancé treated my body as a fetish. I said that I was still a person, and not his doll, and then Andre began to laugh. I was offended, but he kissed me on the nose and assured me that he would not forget for a minute that my body is a vessel with a soul and mind.

Now I understood that he was telling the truth. He always remembered this, and now he was more interested in what was in my head: my thoughts, my memory and everything I know. The body lay tired, empty, unnecessary. I was both afraid and hoping that Andre hadn’t left and left me here alone.

I no longer screamed, did not fight and did not ask to untie my hands or open my eyes, I knew that he would not do this. Andre caught me red-handed, I crossed the line, and everything changed. He suddenly became so calm, thoughtful and quiet, like a warlock before a sacrifice. He didn’t ask me what exactly I was looking for on the Internet and why the recently deceased hacker, Dick White, became so interesting to me. Andre asked me why I didn't believe him. He was not interested in the fact that my ex-boyfriend Seryozha was dead. Andre asked if I loved him for at least one day? I was silent and crying, tears flowing from under the dark fabric of the bandage that Andre used to blindfold me. The dense, anatomically curved mask prevented me from peeking, and finally, after all our games and foreplay, my helplessness and despair became real, authentic. I was scared to death, I was afraid of death, I was afraid of Andre.

At some point, when I lost track of time and almost dozed off - monstrously, but fatigue took its toll - Andre sat down with me on the bed to which I was tied and stroked my hair. I jerked with my whole body, but only to cry out from the pain in my tied hands. Then we were silent for a long time. I gave up first.

“Let me go,” I asked in a broken whisper, and then Andre made a sound as if he was choking on air. Nothing else. Perhaps he really left.

Beauty and the beast rolled into one. My Andre, my handsome prince - he acted on me like a drug, bewitching me with his serious face, amazing magnetic gaze, the relaxed gait of a man who does not know what pain is. A tall, young man with excellent posture, radiant with health, full of thirst for life, he always looked in a way that seemed to burn right through you. He knew what he wanted - he wanted me, and I melted at the thought. Who wouldn't melt?! He embodied everything that one could look for in a man, he had everything that I had ever dreamed of. Even now, there was a part of me that desperately clung to the plot of the old fairy tale, and I told myself that maybe if I kissed him just one more time... Maybe I should have let him explain...

My beautiful killer. Now I understood: he killed Seryozha. Maybe he killed Dick White too. If not himself, then at least he knew about this murder, had something to do with it, maybe he ordered it. How it's done? How can you sit like this at some small table in a small Parisian cafe and place an order - first for a cup of coffee, then for a person. Oh yeah, Andre doesn't drink coffee.

He will kill me too. He just needs time. He needs to decide how...

One thing I did not doubt - he really loved me. Otherwise it was impossible to explain how long he thought and did nothing. All this endless night, Andre just sat, looked at me and thought. About what? Maybe about keeping me alive after all? He loved me. Moreover, he wanted to own me, and therefore now it was difficult for him to simply erase me from his life and from his memory. It was much easier with Seryozha, he hated him. I suddenly remembered that evening when we stood in the library at his mother’s house, and Andre’s eyes burned with undisguised hatred.

“The very thought that someone was with you other than me kills me.”

He wanted to kill him, it wasn't just a wish, it became a plan of action. I could not say exactly how it all happened and what happened, but I could guess. Theories were all I could afford. Seryozha saw Dick Whiter. When? How? I tried to reconstruct that day minute by minute. My hands hurt unbearably, making it difficult to think, but I pushed the pain into the background, pushed it into the top drawer of the dresser, closed the room with pain, threw the key into the water of a huge lake. This kind of meditation gave me a little respite.

Having barely escaped the bonds of Andre, her devilishly charming fiancé, Dasha goes to St. Petersburg to visit her mother in order to protect her from the impending danger, because the killer is already breathing in her back. All the facts speak of it collected by the girl together. The picture that emerges is frightening. But Dasha is very mistaken about who the cold-blooded criminal is...

Alice Clover
sleeping angel

All events described in the book are fictitious.

Any similarity between characters, their names, and biographies with real people is accidental and unintentional.

You try to make you believe in all of his lies
It"s been a long, long, long, long, long, long time
Long time life

Depeche Mode

The inevitability of the end, the instantaneous transition from being to non-existence, the gaping entrance to the crucible of trials, the possibility of sliding into the abyss every minute - such is human existence.

Victor Hugo "The Man Who Laughs"

You can't escape the darkness. She always follows you.

Fable Master of Shadows

Knowing your own darkness is the best method for dealing with the darknesses of other people .

Carl Gustav Jung

He was very close, perhaps sitting motionless in the deep leather armchair opposite the bed, looking at me, wondering how best to deal with me now. Calmly, not hurrying and not succumbing to panic or a momentary impulse to strangle me right here, he looked at me, as if at a rare forest animal that had accidentally fallen into his snares. He could keep me captive, but that was not enough for him. I could imagine his confusion and frustration, his attempts calculate me, looking for the best options. They were not there, and that is why nothing happened - hour after hour Andre remained for me only a rustle, a breath of wind in the still air of the room, a quiet sigh that made me break out in a cold sweat.

How much time do I still have?

At first it was scary that I could not think calmly. Andre grabbed me, twisted my arms behind my back and covered my mouth with his hand to stop me from screaming. A few hours ago all this would have been a game, but now it was happening for real. I was lying on the bed, as I was - in house trousers in a cage and in a T-shirt. The tied hands hurt unbearably, the legs were less strained. There was no way I could change my body position - spread out, blindfolded, I lost orientation in time and space. There was no gag, but it wasn't needed. Who would hear us here? Only my cat, but Andre didn’t have to be afraid of him.

How much time has passed? Few hours? For the first hour, I was just shaking feverishly with fear, and I couldn’t do anything about it, but it turns out that even fear can get tired. It seemed to me that I felt warmth from Andre’s body, but then I was suddenly afraid that he had left long ago, and I was lying here alone, and I would lie like that until... until... No, I forbade myself to think about it “for now.” Sometimes I would inhale noisily through my nose and then I would smell the subtle smell of Chinese menthol oil, which Andre used to lubricate my hand with so that the tattoo would heal faster. The tattoo had been in order for a long time, but Andre clearly liked to take care of me, and I liked it too, so I did not stop these impulses in any way, only sometimes I was angry that my fiancé treated my body as a fetish. I said that I was still a person, and not his doll, and then Andre began to laugh. I was offended, and he kissed me on the nose and assured me that he never forgot for a minute that my body is a vessel with soul and mind.

Now I understood that he was telling the truth. He always remembered this, and now he was more interested in what was in my head: my thoughts, my memory and everything I know. The body lay tired, empty, unnecessary. I was both afraid and hoping that Andre hadn’t left and left me here alone.

I no longer screamed, did not fight and did not ask to untie my hands or open my eyes, I knew that he would not do this. Andre caught me red-handed, I crossed the line, and everything changed. He suddenly became so calm, thoughtful and quiet, like a warlock before a sacrifice. He didn’t ask me what exactly I was looking for on the Internet and why the recently deceased hacker, Dick White, became so interesting to me. Andre asked me why I didn't believe him. He was not interested in the fact that my ex-boyfriend Seryozha was dead. Andre asked if I loved him for at least one day? I was silent and crying, tears flowing from under the dark fabric of the bandage that Andre used to blindfold me. The dense, anatomically curved mask prevented me from peeking, and finally, after all our games and foreplay, my helplessness and despair became real, authentic. I was scared to death, I was afraid of death, I was afraid of Andre.

At some point, when I lost track of time and almost dozed off - monstrously, but fatigue took its toll - Andre sat down with me on the bed to which I was tied and stroked my hair. I jerked with my whole body, but only to cry out from the pain in my tied hands. Then we were silent for a long time. I gave up first.

“Let me go,” I asked in a broken whisper, and then Andre made a sound as if he was choking on air. Nothing else. Perhaps he really left.

Beauty and the beast rolled into one. My Andre, my handsome prince - he acted on me like a drug, bewitching me with his serious face, amazing magnetic gaze, the relaxed gait of a man who does not know what pain is. A tall, young man with excellent posture, radiant with health, full of thirst for life, he always looked in a way that seemed to burn right through you. He knew what he wanted - he wanted me, and I melted at the thought. Who wouldn't melt?! He embodied everything that one could look for in a man, he had everything that I had ever dreamed of. Even now, there was a part of me that desperately clung to the plot of the old fairy tale, and I told myself that maybe if I kissed him just one more time... Maybe I should have let him explain...

My beautiful killer. Now I understood: he killed Seryozha. Maybe he killed Dick White too. If not himself, then at least he knew about this murder, had something to do with it, maybe he ordered it. How it's done? How can you sit like this at some small table in a small Parisian cafe and place an order - first for a cup of coffee, then for a person. Oh yeah, Andre doesn't drink coffee.

He will kill me too. He just needs time. He needs to decide how...

One thing I did not doubt - he really loved me. Otherwise it was impossible to explain how long he thought and did nothing. All this endless night, Andre just sat, looked at me and thought. About what? Maybe about keeping me alive after all? He loved me. Moreover, he wanted to own me, and therefore now it was difficult for him to simply erase me from his life and from his memory. It was much easier with Seryozha, he hated him. I suddenly remembered that evening when we stood in the library at his mother’s house, and Andre’s eyes burned with undisguised hatred.

“The very thought that someone was with you other than me kills me.”

He wanted to kill him, it wasn't just a wish, it became a plan of action. I could not say exactly how it all happened and what happened, but I could guess. Theories were all I could afford. Seryozha saw Dick Whiter. When? How? I tried to reconstruct that day minute by minute. My hands hurt unbearably, making it difficult to think, but I pushed the pain into the background, pushed it into the top drawer of the dresser, closed the room with pain, threw the key into the water of a huge lake. This kind of meditation gave me a little respite.

I was standing downstairs in the hall when Seryozha came running. “It will be a surprise,” he said. “Come with me!” Before that he was absent. Looks like he was going out to get some napkins. How long was he gone? Seems like quite a long time. During this time, he not only found napkins, but also a gallery located in a completely different, non-guest part of the house. The gallery in Gabrielle's house is so far away that you can't wander into it just like that, accidentally on the way to the kitchen. Andre wasn't there either, and I had no idea where he was. I was next to my mother, at least most of the time.

So, everything happened right then. Seryozha saw Dick Whiter, and Andre immediately signed his death warrant. Why? Only because of this! Seryozha saw that a hacker, a criminal wanted all over the world - Dick White - was living comfortably in the house of a noble French family.