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Дневник, 12 марта Сегодня утром я, Тамара, поставила на стол тарелку с омлетом и села напротив Ильи.

The thermos is old, a battered British enamel model with a swollen glass chamber and a dragonetched pattern

Павел не вернулся. Его вещи исчезли. В шкафу пустые вешалки. На тумбочке записка, нацарапанная на клочке

Now you have no mother! Maggie Whitaker roared, her voice echoing through the modest kitchen of their

Dear Diary, I can still hear my mothers voice echoing through the kitchen, the way she used to hurl at

Poppy Greene set a plate of scrambled eggs on the table and took a seat opposite Max Turner.

Hey Emma, sorry to call so late. Ive got terrible news my boyfriend Toms wife was killed in a crash last

It was a crisp September evening when Ian Hughes finally got the keys to his brandnew flat in a sleek

Youve got no mother left! my motherinlaw snapped at me. Forget you ever had a mum. After you get married

Помню, как тогда я, Анастасия, в отчаянии бросилась по всей комнате искать потерянное кольцо. Нет его!