Character: Nekrasov

To the poet the Nightingale flew at night,
In the sky the moon has come up,
And together with the poet he sang and singers
Listening, nature was silent.
Then the Nightingale tells people -
Fly here every summer:
And whistles, and cries and calls like
Forgotten friend of the poet!
But dead poet ceased to fly
Feathered singer... so Full of grief,
Since then, the cypress orphan stood
Heed only the rumble of the sea.

- Man, he is heroic! And the growth? Well then... no Wonder they say that small bug, but smelly. Heroism takes. As still this is the warlord... You're ancient history studied ever, Nekrasov?
- I don't know, don't know, will not boast.
- In vain are not taught, Nekrasov, in vain Here, for example, in the old days was such a famous commander. ... Alexander Of Macedon. About what's his last name, him to high hell...So about the identity of his commandment about the enemy was so - came, saw and left marks! And careful, son, it happened that the enemy, after this hundred years, the sneezes did not come to their senses!

- You better about your secret disease tell!
- Don't laugh it. Then the laughter - bad.
- If you want to know, trench disease, that's what!
- It is well, Nekrasov? Something like that here, sort of?
- No, this is not what you foolishly think. It is a disease not of the body, and brain.
Brain! Yes, you can't be a disease for you! Her to settle-then nothing! Nekrasov! Because soil is not present...
- What does she look like? Well, tell me, what are you doing!
- See how it turned out... Spring, remember, the actor? When the realignment was going, we moved along the front, spent the night in Semenovka. A hundred and fifty in a hut crammed. Slept and jacks, and sitting, and everything else. In the house stuffy, hot, and all that I breathe - no strength. I Wake up on the shallow need and Vasanas me like I'm in the dugout, and for me to come - you need the stairs to climb. In memory was, just remember, and climbed on the stove. And on the stove - the old woman slept. She the old woman of ninety or a hundred years. It is already of old age all the moss came from.
<...>
It is clear that this woman foolishly imagined... I'm on pristupne furnace, and she's old junk sort of mangy, half-awake, with fright, of course, excited, and so pitifully said, "my benefactor, you what it is doing, damn son?" And she boots me in the face pokes. And laughter and sin, to God. I said, "Grandma, excuse me, for Christ's sake! Do not make a noise. And stop legs waving, but one never knows, they do you in your old age, get rid of him. Sorry, I say, grandma, sorry to interrupt you, but you're the only one for his innocence, no worries, you get cholera". With the and tears.
- The old woman?
With pristupa, you fool!