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<blockquote data-quote="sachii" data-source="post: 9058592" data-attributes="member: 126652"><p><strong>page 7</strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">“Look how people have grown in our day! Altynai Sulaimanovna is an</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">academician, known throughout the country. Practically all of us have a</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">secondary education, and many a higher education. Today we have opened a</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">new secondary school in our village, and that alone shows how greatly our life</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">has changed. May the sons and daughters of Kurkureu always be among the</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">best-educated people of their day! Let us drink to this.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">The party became noisy and jolly again as everyone drank the toast. Altynai alone appeared disturbed and ill at ease, and took no more than a sip of her wine. No one noticed it though everyone was in high spirits, talking and laughing.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">Altynai glanced at her wristwatch again and again. And afterwards, when the</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">whole party came out for a breath of fresh air, I saw her standing apart from the</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">rest, her intent gaze on the hill where the yellowed poplars were swaying gently</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">in the breeze. The sun was sinking where the sky met the blurred lilac line of the</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">steppe. Its waning light stained the crowns of the poplars a dull, sorrowful</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">purple.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">I went up to Altynai.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">“They are shedding their leaves now, but you ought to see them in spring when</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">they are bursting info leaf!”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">“I've been thinking of it too.” she said with a sigh, and after a pause added, as if</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">speaking to herself: “Yes, all living things have their spring and their autumn.”</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"></span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">Her aging face looked pensive and sad. She was gazing at the poplars with a</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">very feminine sort of regret. The academician had vanished; this was just an</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">ordinary, unsophisticated Kirghiz woman, guileless in both sorrow and joy. She</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">seemed to be lost in memories of her youth, which, as our songs say, cannot be</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">called back even if you call from the tallest mountain. I believe she wanted to</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">tell me something as she stood gazing at the poplars, but changing her mind she</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">hastily put on the spectacles she was holding in her hand.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">“I believe the Moscow train goes through at eleven, doesn't it?” she asked.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">“It does.”</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="sachii, post: 9058592, member: 126652"] [B]page 7[/B] [SIZE=3]“Look how people have grown in our day! Altynai Sulaimanovna is an academician, known throughout the country. Practically all of us have a secondary education, and many a higher education. Today we have opened a new secondary school in our village, and that alone shows how greatly our life has changed. May the sons and daughters of Kurkureu always be among the best-educated people of their day! Let us drink to this.” The party became noisy and jolly again as everyone drank the toast. Altynai alone appeared disturbed and ill at ease, and took no more than a sip of her wine. No one noticed it though everyone was in high spirits, talking and laughing. Altynai glanced at her wristwatch again and again. And afterwards, when the whole party came out for a breath of fresh air, I saw her standing apart from the rest, her intent gaze on the hill where the yellowed poplars were swaying gently in the breeze. The sun was sinking where the sky met the blurred lilac line of the steppe. Its waning light stained the crowns of the poplars a dull, sorrowful purple. I went up to Altynai. “They are shedding their leaves now, but you ought to see them in spring when they are bursting info leaf!” “I've been thinking of it too.” she said with a sigh, and after a pause added, as if speaking to herself: “Yes, all living things have their spring and their autumn.” Her aging face looked pensive and sad. She was gazing at the poplars with a very feminine sort of regret. The academician had vanished; this was just an ordinary, unsophisticated Kirghiz woman, guileless in both sorrow and joy. She seemed to be lost in memories of her youth, which, as our songs say, cannot be called back even if you call from the tallest mountain. I believe she wanted to tell me something as she stood gazing at the poplars, but changing her mind she hastily put on the spectacles she was holding in her hand. “I believe the Moscow train goes through at eleven, doesn't it?” she asked. “It does.”[/SIZE] [/QUOTE]
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Dahaya deken beduwama keeyada?
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