Ладошки, у меня РАНЧИК РОДИЛСЯ! :-)
...
Уважаемые давние поклонники и посетители Ладошек!
Я запускаю коммьюнити-сайт, новый проект, а вы все, будучи
https://www.facebook.com/run4iq
Бег для интеллектуалов.
Бег для интеллекта.
Бег "за" интеллектом. Он сам не придёт ;-)
Ранчик родился!
Андрей AKA Andrew Nugged
Ладошки служат как архив программ для Palm OS и Poclet PC / Windows Mobile
и разрешённых книг с 15 окрября 2000 года.
Viy is a colossal creation of folk imagination. This name is applied by people in Utlle Russia to the chief of the gnomes, whose eyelids teach to the ground. The whole story is a popular legend. 1 did not wish to change it in any way and tell it almost as simply is 1 heard it. (Author's note)
отрывок из произведения:
...As soon as the booming seminary bell that hung by the gates of the Bratsky Monastery in Kiev rang out in the morning, crowds of schoolboys and seminarians' came hurrying from all over the city. Grammarians, rhetoricians, philosophers, and theologians, notebooks under their arms, trudged to class. The grammarians were still very small; as they walked they pushed each other and quarreled among themselves in the thinnest trebles; their clothes were almost all torn or dirty, and their pockets were eternally fall of various sorts of trash, such as knucklebones, whistles made from feathers, unfinished pieces of pie, and occasionally even a little sparrow that, by chirping suddenly amidst the extraordinary silence of the classroom, would procure for its patron a decent beating on both hands, and sometimes the cherrywood rod. The rhetoricians walked more sedately: their clothes were often perfectly intact, but instead their faces were almost always adorned with some rhetorical trope: one eye completely closed, or a big bubble instead of a lip, or some other mark; these swore by God and talked among themselves in tenors. The philosophers dropped a whole octave lower: there was nothing in their pockets except strong, coarse tobacco. They kept nothing stashed away and ate whatever came along on the spot; the smell of pipes and vodka sometimes spread so far around them that a passing artisan would stand for a long time sniffing the air like a hound.
The marketplace at that time was usually just beginning to stir, and women with bagels, rolls, watermelon seeds, and poppyseed cakes tugged those who had them by their coattails of thin broadcloth or some sort of cotton.
«Young sirs! Young sirs! Here! Here!» they said on all sides. «There are good bagels, poppyseed cakes, twists, rolls! Fine ones, by God! with honey! homemade!» Another woman, holding up something long made of twisted dough, cried;
«Here's an icicle, young sirs! Buy an icicle!» «Don't buy anything from that one! Look how foul she is-her nose is awful and her hands are dirty...»...
...As soon as the booming seminary bell that hung by the gates of the Bratsky Monastery in Kiev rang out in the morning, crowds of schoolboys and seminarians' came hurrying from all over the city. Grammarians, rhetoricians, philosophers, and theologians, notebooks under their arms, trudged to class. The grammarians were still very small; as they walked they pushed each other and quarreled among themselves in the thinnest trebles; their clothes were almost all torn or dirty, and their pockets were eternally fall of various sorts of trash, such as knucklebones, whistles made from feathers, unfinished pieces of pie, and occasionally even a little sparrow that, by chirping suddenly amidst the extraordinary silence of the classroom, would procure for its patron a decent beating on both hands, and sometimes the cherrywood rod. The rhetoricians walked more sedately: their clothes were often perfectly intact, but instead their faces were almost always adorned with some rhetorical trope: one eye completely closed, or a big bubble instead of a lip, or some other mark; these swore by God and talked among themselves in tenors. The philosophers dropped a whole octave lower: there was nothing in their pockets except strong, coarse tobacco. They kept nothing stashed away and ate whatever came along on the spot; the smell of pipes and vodka sometimes spread so far around them that a passing artisan would stand for a long time sniffing the air like a hound.
