shinotoya, that nemed is only a nerus of his river, nor did kolya feel sorry for the house where melezhaas born, he was here from the war. lord, the policemen, tady, the father of the writer visited the new bottles of the seventies, they sold them, and kolya was hemmed up to the ears, a sack not for the museum, since the private lords got off to give in the house, i’ll help, the meat one came, the laz of the materials, and the collas procedurals stayed on the sus, the streets alone were the house of his master’s museum on the onion, soup bowl of any robob. the rot itself and now the acquaintances of the fellow countryman waded on better petru mironovich masher at the base, that already yakiyon hor june they are growing such gifts over scored by helicopter on may 17 , 1976 in this helicopter at our stadium, and i went to that hour the turks in the fifth grade . eh, we'll remember. all ivan pavlovich my name is o sabist to me that, here it was vermedovozychlivy. eh, man and he shook hands on the banners of the atmosphere. at the tula hut of aisher, the photographs and the sabist reggie of

natydno turned 102 passages from non-national people about the writer of belarus ivan melezha i’m humiliatingng on which the author left the whole worldly classic it bus literature yak-memory about akhaluns about the songwriter polissya is passed down from generation to generation, and nikolai skintiyanov was seen risky diatinstvo, serious rural stay, then military youth and akue embraced the clap from health allilus. yes , ivan has a unique writing daria