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"That's up to finishing their bottom station, go out and come back," - thought to himself, a Russian girl, Natasha, rhythmically repeating this idea under the wheels.Lights scattered on the hilly smoky haze, gathered in the hollows, stretched precious snake, and again scattered, as if some invisible hand was playing with diamonds on a velvet cushion. On the table a glass-holder in the road swayed and moved to the edge."Began buffeting" - thought a Russian girl, Natasha, shielding in a blanket and crept deeper into the corner of a completely empty compartment.The train picks up speed.White Stone Pskov increasingly moved away in the evening mist ¬ tions - a product of swamps, thickets, windbreaks - together with the unclear, but some gentle hopes for something not yet defined, but certainly carries joy and happiness with the people with whom only managed to have a meeting that promised much."It's amazing the road to Pskov - kept saying to herself a Russian girl, Natalia, - dull, swampy, with the only healthy place in the middle - Staraya Russa, but also swampy and the river, which is true, and should be the capital of the ancient Varangian. How different is this road from the Pskov - a light, at the confluence of two rivers in swift rocky channels with corresponding names (the Great and Pskov - splashing), high on a few hills, the city, shining golden domes seemed already in heaven, standing in the Kremlin's Cathedral. "Denisov, Natasha Russian girl loved this city. She loved to ride on the studies it was there.