“Like an old sieve,” elaborated Victor. “A rusty one. Like a net. With large mesh.”
Then Roman, continuing to smile strangely, pulled a notebook out of his shirt pocket and riffled its pages.
“And so,” he said. “Large, meshed, and rusty. Let’s see
nineteen, zero-five, seventy-three,” he read.
The magisters lunged toward the parrot and collided their foreheads with a dry c***k.
“Nineteen, zero-five, seventy-three,” Korneev read the numbers on the ring in a fallen voice. It was most spectacular. Stella immediately squealed with pleasure.
“Big deal,” said Drozd without tearing himself away from his drawing. “I once had a number coinciding with the winner in a lottery. I ran to the savings outlet to pick up my car. And then it turned out—”
“Why did you write down the number?” said Korne
