It has returned to hotel late, tired, but happy and almost quiet. In a dining room already was nobody. Having had supper
(thoroughly, without excessive haste), Bulls has gone to search for Dauge. On the second floor, in a corridor where there
were doors of rooms in which lived mezhplanetniki, it has stopped. One of doors has been slightly opened, and the sonorous
voice of Jurkovsky Bagritskogo: reciting verses was heard... And the wind as will whoop, As by prosvishchet As will set
barashkompod the sonorous bottom That nails ringed That the mast hooted: "the Good deed! Good business!." Bulls has
glanced in a room. Jurkovsky in a pyjamas and house shoes polulezhal on a sofa, having thrown hands for a head, having
turned the person to a window. Krutikov nearby sat, having stooped, sucking at a short empty tubule. At a table Bogdan
Spitsyn rocked on a chair and smiled any to the, one it to known thoughts. Neither Dauge, nor Krajuhina and Ermakova in a
room was not.
... So beat on veins, Rush in edges, the Homeless youth, my Fury! That stars sypalaskrov human, That a shot
rvatsjavselennoj towards...
It were wonderful verses. Besides, "fop" read surprisingly well. Something disturbing and calling was in its deep, full of
reserved force n excitements a voice, and Bulls has involuntarily thought that here this fearless handsome man, possibly, is
very similar to the author of verses which he reads. It same uneasy and passionate as it is ready to give without a regret all
life for the big and extraordinary affairs. About the same, possibly, Krutikov has thought also. It has suddenly taken out a tube
from a mouth and has attentively looked on Jurkovsky as if wishing to be convinced in something. Only Spitsyn continued to
be shaken and smile quietly with half-closed eyes.
... And to sing, choking, On terrible open space: "Ah, Black sea, the Good sea!." Jurkovsky has broken off. Bulls has
receded from a door and has gone further. The room of Dauge has appeared empty. On a bed which Ioganych lay
spetskostjum, probably, has picked up for the friend. Reddish reflexions of the evening sky were poured on the polished
surface of a spherical cap. Bulls wanted was to go, but here the attention it was involved with a photo lying on a table. The
photo was familiar - the fine woman with a sad face, in the dark blue dress closed to a neck.