petrovna, stovrogina, that he has a fable, he says, probably krylov’s tower, no, no, not krylova, mya cockroach, a cockroach from childhood, and then fell into a glass full of fly-eating, lord , what is this, varvara petrovna exclaimed , a cockroach took the place, the flies began to murmur , our glass was very full, they shouted to jupiter, but while they were screaming, nikifor, a handsome old man, came up, well, here i have more not finished, the captain cracked, nikif takes the glass and, despite the cry, splashes out the whole comedy, my god, what is this, this is absolute, this is not krylov’s fable with a moral, with clearly defined good and evil, in the end, but this is just a cult of the disgusting, disgusting, and then afanasy afanach fed , an absolute russian poet, sometimes even to the point of boredom , because he writes about the most important thing, well , about the fact that the sounds of the evening are crowding like midges, my god, and i don’t know what i’ll sing, but only the song is ripening , says fet, yes , he’s not talking, not about something in the world, ab