Chapter II.II
Mister Thurlow couldn’t help and laugh at his vision. The old women sitting on either side of him shuddered in unison. Jo heard the dissatisfied hiss of some tradeswoman – seems to be the one who sold fruit. But to him, tired from this day culturologist, somehow didn’t care what these uneducated broody thought about him. He didn’t try to restrain this sudden flow of fun that fell on him and laughed until old Martin suddenly turned around and waved his hairy fist right in front of his nose. Non-conflict – and to be honest, cowardly – Jo immediately stopped neighing like a horse, and the driver, muttering rude words to the ill-mannered youth, put his hands on the steering wheel again. Five minutes later, the bus finally brought the entire mass of people rushing home to their home village, a
- Writer
