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How I would like to look at him, at least with one eye.
But her eyes were already stuck together, and she fell into a restless sleep.
She dreamed the nightmares narrated by Alexander from prison life, she tossed, moaned, jumped, sat for a long time, and again fell into a restless sleep.
The mother returned long before the evening, tired, broken, it was evident that she was tormented by remorse from the forthcoming conversation with her daughter.
She looked old, but her face was calm, peaceful, as it happens after confession, before death.
This did not escape Alexandra: Did you have a hard day? In my life there were many difficult days, even very many, they would be enough for our entire area.
But today I really have the hardest of the most difficult days.
Alexandra felt sorry for her mother.
Why did she start this conversation? Knowing the truth does not always alleviate suffering; more often, on the contrary, it aggravates them; these words she had heard from mother lawyer in her childhood.
If you do not want – you can not say anything.
To me, in essence, everything is already indifferent.
Life did not work out, nothing can be returned back.
No excuses will change anything.
No, I have to tell you.
At least so that you can forgive me.
7 It happened over twenty years ago, you have not been there yet.
We then lived on the other side of the country.
I was the only child in the family.
Both my mother and father loved me madly, however, like all parents love children.
My godfather, Father Victor, I did not know until the age of sixteen.
They baptized me in a neighboring village, my parents came there alone, and Father Victor agreed to be my godfather.
He performed the rite of baptism, and immediately forgot about me.
When I was sixteen years old, our husband died at our neighbor, and she invited Victor’s father to read the funeral of the deceased.

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That’s when he remembered that I was his goddaughter.
Maybe he came to us himself, maybe his mother invited him – I do not know that, only from that day he came to visit us often.
Every time, when in our village, or when passing by, he would come to our house, pull my pigtails, pull my cheeks, pull my lower lip with a forefinger, and laugh because she smacked; admired my beauty, and always brought gifts: rubber dolls, rag bears, plastic birds – I had two drawers of them.
There was no church in our village, but he convinced the mother that I should attend the church of God, and I, every resurrection, went to the next village to pray, to partake, to confess.
Sometimes he asked me such questions that I ran out of the church with a burning face.
But I liked it: I served God! Somehow, going into the house, he found me in a shirt on a naked body, lifted her, made sure that I was without panties, and said seriously: You can walk unhygienically without shorts, and you can chill your charms.
So, whether you like it or not, you should wear panties.
To interfere – will remove! I flushed and ran into my room.
I was ashamed and pleased at the same time.
At school, the boys called Chuikha, beat him with a briefcase below his back, and grabbed his chest painfully.
Father Victor was different, he talked to me on an equal footing as an adult, and at the same time quietly taught me, raised me, spoke about such things that I would never hear from anyone.
After that incident, he came to our house, hugged me, groped for the pants, checking if they were on me, ottyagil it and let go with a click.
It was painful and embarrassing for me and at the same time pleasant! The next time, it seemed to me, he came to us on purpose, when I was in the house myself, picked up a dress, checked whether I was in shorts, and presented a beautiful set of pants, a “week”.
You are an adult girl, you can’t allow a guy who has accidentally looked under her skirt to see such unattractive underwear.
I blushed, and he gently pinched my nipple and left, having stayed in the house for no more than three minutes.
In general, I fell in love with him.
She ran to church on Sundays and Saturdays, and on holy holidays, Father Victor listened to the service, opened her mouth, did everything the way he preached: she studied perfectly, her father and mother listened, she prayed earnestly, even kept the fast.
Seeing such my zeal, Father Victor promised to get me a job in my parish.
Is not it happiness for a young girl! To be close to your loved one, to see him daily, to listen to his sermons, and even to receive money for it.
On the collective farm for the girl, the choice is small: either the cows are milked, or in the field, corn weed.

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