Antonovskiy apples.

In the reading room, cozy, quiet and light only over the tables, standing with the newspapers some gray-haired German, similar to Ibsen, in silver round glasses and with crazyAmazed eyes. Having inspected him, Mr. San Francisco sat in a deep leather chair in the corner, near the lamp under the green cap, put on Pensne and, jerving his head from his collar stunned, everything closed with a newspaper sheet. He quickly ran the title of some articles, read several lines of the never stopping Balkan war, the familiar gesture turned over the newspaper. Suddenly the line flashed in front of it with a glass glitter. Neck of it field. The eyes were released. Pensna flew from the nose.

He rushed forward, wanted to block air and wildly stuck. The lower jaw disappeared him, illuminated the whole mouth with gold seals. The head fell on the shoulder and climbed. The chest of shirts was peeled. The whole body, giving up, joining the carpet with heels, crawled to the floor, fighting desperately with someone.

(I. Bunin) (134 words)

The task

Perform syntactic analysis Dedicated sentence.
Mark the grammatical basis of each sentence.
Graphically designate what a member of the sentence is clarifying members.
Graphically designate:
- separate suggestions;
- uniform members of the sentence.
Write the valid communion.
Perform morpheme analysis highlighted words.
Pick the synonyms for the underlined Word.
Stressed simple sentences Change so that the offer has become difficult.

... I remember early wake up autumn. Augustus was with warm rains, as if we were deliberately dropped out for Seva, with rains at the very time, in the middle of the month, near the holiday of St. Lawrence. And "Autumn and winter are good living, if the water is quiet and the rain on Lavrentia." Then the Babi summer cobwebs a lot of village on the field. This is also a good sign: "There is a lot of stagnicker on Indian summer - the autumn of the poorest" ... I remember early, fresh, quiet morning ... I remember the big, the whole golden, sniffed and drunkard, I remember the maple alleys, the thin fragrance of foliage foliage and the smell Antonovsky apples, the smell of honey and autumn freshness. The air is so clean, it is not at all at all, voices and creaking carts are distributed throughout the garden. This Tarhan, gardeners, hired men and pour apples to send them to the city in the night, - certainly on the night, when it was so nice to lie on the car, look in the starry sky, feel the smell of tar in the fresh air and listen to how carefully sketches In the dark long traffic large road. A man, sprinkling apples, eats them with a juicy crackle one after one, but such a place - never the tradesman will fail, but also say: - Vali, Eat Has, - nothing to do! On the merging, all honey drink. And the cool silence of the morning violates only the fed quorting of Drozdov on coral rowan in more often the garden, the voice of the rich knock of the refisted in the measures and row of apples. The road to the Bolshoi Shalash, was filled with straw, and the strongest, near whom the worn farm had become far visible. Everywhere it smells like apples, here - especially. The bed is arranged in the hut, there is a single-barre rifle, a green samovar, in the corner - dishes. ROGOZHES, drawers, all sorts of thinned belongings are lying around the chalash, dug out. At noon, a magnificent Kulesh with Salom is boiled on it, in the evening the samovar is heated, and in the garden, between the trees, the long strip of bluish smoke is spread. On the holidays of the same days near the Shalash - a whole fair, and the red seasons fill in the trees. Fucking the Big-eyed Girls in Sundars, very smelling paint, come "Barsky" in their beautiful and coarse, dicar costumes, young old age, pregnant, with a wide sleepy face and important as the Kholmogorsk cow. On her head "horns", - the braids are put on the sides of the top and covered with several scarves, so the head seems huge; Feet, in half boots with horses, stand stupid and firmly; Sleeveless - plina, the curtain is long, and Ponov is black and lite with brick-colored stripes and a wide golden "sampling" with a brick. - Shopping butterfly! - Says a trades about her, shaking his head. - Now they are translated ... And the boys in white disadvantaged shirts and short defects, with white open heads, are all suitable. They go through two, three, finely dealt with bare feet, and touched on the shaggy shepherd, tied to an apple tree. Buy, of course, one, for and buying something on a penny or on an egg, but there are many buyers, trade is a boyko, and a cahhotesman in a long furout and red boots - cheerful. Together with his brother, Kartawa, the chip semi-sidian who lives from his grace, he trades with jokes, additives and sometimes "toupe" on Tula harmonic. And before the evening the people crowds in the garden, it is heard about the shag of laughter and talk, and sometimes the topot of dance ... By night in the weather it becomes very cold and Rosisto. Having hurt on the gum by the rye aroma of the new straw and pokykina, cheerfully go home to the dinner past the garden shaft. Votes on the village or scrolling gate are distributed over the student dawn unusually clear. Darmest. And here is still the smell: in the garden - a fire, and firmly pulls the scented smoke of cherry burs. In the dark, in the depths of the garden - a fabulous picture: accurately in the corner of hell, burning near the barn flames, surrounded by darkness, and someone's black, precisely carved silhouettes from the black tree move around the fire, including gigantic shadows from them go to apple trees . Throughout the tree will fall a black hand in several Arshin, then two legs are drawn - two black columns. And suddenly all this slides from the apple tree - and the shadow will fall across the Alley, from the slag to the very wicket ... Late at night, when lights go out on the village, when the diamond constellation of Stalard is already high in the sky, once again run into the garden. Runs on dry foliage, like a blind, get to the slag. There on the clearing a little lighter, and the Milky Way Behind his head. - Is it you, Barchuk? - quietly oars someone from the darkness. - I. And you do not sleep yet, Nikolay? - We can not sleep. And, should, too late? Won, it seems, the passenger train goes ... Long listens and distinguish the shiver in the ground, the shiver goes into noise, grows, and so, as if already behind the garden, acceleratedly knock out the noisy tact of the wheels: harsh and knocking, the train rushes ... closer, closer, louder and serge .. . And suddenly begins to serve, stuck, accurately flowing into the ground ... - Where do you have a rifle, Nikolay? - But near the box-s. I'll throw it up heavy as scrap, a single-person and shoot with Mahi. The crimson flame with a deafening crash shine to the sky, blinds on a moment and spreads the stars, and the vigorous echo rolls and rolls along the horizon, far and far to get silent in clean and sensitive air. - Wow, great! - will say the trashman. - spend, spend, Barchuk, and then just trouble! Again, the whole duul on the shaft said ... And the black sky is drawn by fireproof stars. For a long time you look at his dark blue depth, crowded with constellations until the earth will float under your feet. Then they will attach and hiding your hands in the sleeve, quickly run by Alley to the house ... How cold, Rosisto and how well live in the world!

II.

"The poorest Antonovka is the fun year." Rustic affairs are good if Antonovka was groaning: it means that the bread was crushed ... I remember the yield year. At the early dawn, when the roosters are still shouting and the huts will smoke, open, it happened, the window in a cool garden, filled with a scorched fog, through which the morning sun brightly shines, and you will not lose one - you will immediately sneak the horse, and you will beat the horse Wash the pond. The small foliage was almost all shielded from the coastal Lozin, and the bumps are swaying on the turquoise sky. Water under slosices has become transparent, ice and as if heavy. She instantly drives out the night laziness, and, washing and breakfast in human with workers with hot potatoes and black bread with a large raw salt, feel like a slippery skin of the saddle, driving along the hunting. Autumn - the time of the prestial holidays, and the people at this time are pribran, satisfied, the view of the village is not at all that at another time. If the year of the yield and a whole golden city is towering on the gums, and on the river is ringing and sharply, they are very good in the morning, so in the village and not bad. In addition, our evios of a sponic century, since the time of the grandfather, were famous for "wealth." Old men and old women lived in evils very long, - the first sign of a rich village, - and were all high, big and white as Lun. Only you hear, it happened: "Yes, - here Agafya eighty-three godhawschochka!" - or conversations in such a way: - And when will you die, Pankrat? I suppose you will be a hundred years? - How do you like to talk, father? - How old are you, I ask! - But I do not know, s, father. - Yes, Plato Apollonian remember? - How-C, Batyushka, - I obviously remember. - You see now. You mean, no less than a hundred. The old man who stands in front of the Barine stretching, smiles gently and guilty. Well, they say, do, - to blame, healed. And he probably would have grown up, if he had not been laughed in Luka Petrov. I remember his old woman. Everything, it happened, sitting on the bench, on the porch, bent, shaking his head, choking and holding the bench with his hands, "everything thinks about something. "I suppose about my good," they told Baba, because "good" in her chests was, however, a lot. And it seems to do not hear; Slipzato looks somewhere in the distance from under sad raised eyebrows, shakes his head and is exactly so much to remember something. Big was the old woman, all some kind of dark. Panneva - a little more than last century, Chunki - Powynitskiy, neck - yellow and dried, shirt with the canifaceous shoals is always white-white, - "quite at least in the coffin clasi." And near the porch, a big stone lay: herself bought himself on the grave, as well as Savan, is an excellent savan, with angels, with crosses and a prayer printed along the edges. Under the elderly, the courtyards in the races were also the bricks, built by the grandfathers. And the rich men - in Savelia, Ignat, drone - the huts were in two or three connections, because there was no fashion in the races yet. In such families, the bees were drove, proud of the stallion-bitch Sivo-Zheleznoto colors and kept the estate in order. Thick and fat cannons were dark on the gums, Ovin and Riga stood, indoorwise; In the beans and barcakes were iron doors, followed by canvas, strawberries, new serpents, typical giving, measures hinge made by copper hoops. In the gate and on the sledding crosses were burned. And I remember, sometimes it seemed to be an extremely tempting to be a guy. When, it happened, you are walking in the village in the village, everyone thinks about how good to mow, thoroughly, sleep on the gum in osetas, and stand up with the sun, under a thick and musical evil from the village, wash near the barrel and put on a clean disadvantage Shubah, the same ports and uncomplicated boots with boots. If, I thought, to add a healthy and beautiful wife in a festive dress, but a ride to dinner, and then lunch at a bearded testing, lunch with a hot lamb on wooden plates and with sittles, with cellular honey and braga, - so more and wish Impossible! The warehouse of the mid noblest life also in my memory, - very recently, had a lot of common with the warehouse rich man's man life at their own home and rural starrebone well-being. Such, for example, was the manor of the aunt Anna Gerasimovna, who lived from the alignment of the versts in twelve. So far, it happened, you will reach this estate, it's already completely impoverished. With dogs on the conversions, it accounted for a step, and I don't want to hurry, it's so fun in the open field in a sunny and cool day! The terrain is flat, it is visible far. The sky is light and so spacious and deep. The sun sparkles on the side, and the road, rolled after the rains by the carts, grilled and glitters like rails. Around the wide shoals fresh, magnificent green frills. From somewhere there is a hawk in the transparent air and zoked in one place, trembling with sharp wings. And in a clear distance, they run out clearly prominent telegraph poles, and wire, like silver strings, slide along the slope of a clear sky. They are sitting on them, - very black badges on tank paper. I did not know the serfdom and did not see, but I remember, the aunt Anna Gerasimovna felt him. You drive into the courtyard and immediately feel that it is still quite alive. The manor is small, but the whole old, durable, surrounded by centenary birch and slosins. Night buildings are low, but the houses are set, and they are all exactly merged from dark oak logs under the straw roofs. It stands out the value or, it is better to say, only the blackened human sparkle, from which the last Mogican of the yard looks out - some dilapidated old men and old women, a declining chef, similar to Don Quixote. All of them, when entering the courtyard, tighten and low-low low. A gray-haired kucher, heading from a carriage barn to take a horse, still at the shed removes the cap and walks along the entire yard with a naked head. He went to the aunt for the Forer, and now he takes it to dinner, - in winter in the age, and in the summer in a strong, hinge trolley, like those on which priests go. The garden of the aunt was famous for its nestness, nightingales, ruling and apples, and the roof house. He stood at the head of the courtyard, at the garden himself, - the branches of Lip hugged him, - it was small and a squat, but it seemed that he would not be in the century, he was so thoroughly looked from under his unusually high and thick straw roof, blackened and hardened on time. His front facade was always alive for me: exactly the old face looks from under a huge hat with depressions of the eyes, the windows with pearl from the rain and the sun with windows. And on the sides of these eyes there were a porch, - two old large porchs with columns. On the front, they were always sitting on the filled pigeons, meanwhile, as thousands of sparrow rain slept from the roof on the roof ... and cozy he felt the guest in this nest under the turquoise autumn sky! Enjoy the house and first of all you hear the smell of apples, and then others are already the other: old furniture of the red tree, dried lime color, which from June lies on the windows ... in all rooms - in Lacées, in the hall, in the living room - cool and gloomy: It is because the house is surrounded by a garden, and the top windows of the windows are colored: blue and lilac. Everywhere silence and cleanliness, although it seems, chairs, tables with inlays and mirrors in narrow and twisted gold frames have never been drowned. And here hears caddling: the aunt comes out. It is small, but also, like all around, durable. On her shoulders they throw a big Persian shawl. It will come out. It will be important, but welcoming, and now there are treatments about the inheritance for infinite conversations about an old woman: first "Duli", apples, - Antonovskaya, "Bel-Baryn", Borovinka, "Fruit" : All pink boiled hay with peas, stuffed chicken, turkey, marinades and red kvass, - strong and sweet-premilky ... windows in the garden are raised, and from there makes a bodra autumnal cool.

III

Per last years One supported the fooling spirit of the landowners - hunting. Formerly, such estates, as the manor, Anna Gerasimovna, were not uncommon. There were also collapsing, but still lived on a wide foot of the manor with a huge estate, with a garden of twenty tents. True, some of these ussers have been preserved until now, but there are no lives in them ... there is no triple, there are no riding "Kyrgyzov", there are no hounds and greyhound dogs, there is no courtyard and there is no owner of the hunter's landlord It seems to be my late shrinity of the seed arseny. From the end of September, our gardens and gum are emptied, the weather, as usual, changed cool. The wind on the whole days drenched and tremble trees, rains walked them from morning to night. Sometimes in the evening, a fluttering golden light of the low sun was made between gloomy low clouds; the air was chosen clean and clear, and sunlight Dazzling glittered between the foliage, between the branches that the latch was moving and worried about the wind. Cold and brightly shone in the north over heavy lead clouds liquid blue skyAnd because of these clouds slowly floated the ridges of snow mountains. You're standing at the window and you think: "Avos, God will give, will work out." But the wind did not get up. He worried the garden, ripped continuously running out of the pipe with a human jet of smoke and rejected the sinister cosma of ash clouds. They fled low and quickly - and soon, exactly smoke, talked the sun. The shine went out, the window was closed into the blue sky, and in the garden became deserted and boring, and again began to sow rain ... First, quietly, carefully, then all the thicker and, finally, turned into a shower with a storm and dark. There was a long, anxious night ... From such a sticking, the garden came out almost completely naked, filled with wet leaves and some kind of crumbling, who was acceptable. But how beautiful it was, when clear weather was coming again, transparent and cold days of early October, the farewell holiday of autumn! The preserved foliage will now hang on the trees before the first Zazimkov. The black garden will be through the cold turquoise sky and submractive waiting for the winter, bearing in the sunlight. And the fields are sharply drawn with fatty and brightly greasy frills frills ... It's time to hunt! And here I see myself in the manor of the seeds of the Semyon, in a big house, in the hall, full of the sun and smoke from the tubes and cigarette. There are many people - all people tanned, with weathered faces, in routines and long boots. Just have just satisfied, painted and excited by noisy conversations about the upcoming hunt, but they do not forget to prevent vodka and after lunch. And on the courtyard the trisbit horn and howling a dog to different voices. Black Borza, Pets of Arseny Semyon, takes off on the table and begins to devour from the dishes of the hare under the sauce. But suddenly he emits a terrible scream and, tipping the plates and glasses, breaks down from the table: Arseny Semyonch, who left the office with arapy and the revolver, suddenly stuns the hall with a shot. The hall is even more filled with smoke, and the Arseny Semyonch stands and laughs. - It is a pity that I missed! - He says, playing his eyes. He is high as height, thin, but broadly and is designed, and the man is a handsome man. He's eyes shine wildly, he is very clever, in a silk raspberry shirt, velvet balls and long boots. After scaring and the dog and guests a shot, he is jokingly, it is important to declare Bariton:

It's time, it's time to saddle a nimble don
And the ringing horn per shoulders perhaps! -

And loud says:

- Well, however, there is nothing to lose the golden time! I am still still feeling how greedily and exccoo breathe a young chest with a cold and raw day in the evening, when, it happened, you've been going with a noisy Vatagi of the Arseny Seeds, excited by the music gamase of dogs, thrown in Chernolesie, in some red borgorm or a ratty island, Already one of the name exciting hunter. You go to evil, strong and squat "Kyrgyz", tightly holding back by his reins, and you feel almost together with him. He snorts, asks on trot, loudly rustles with hooves on deep and easy carpets of black creased foliage, and each sound is gulco in empty, cheese and fresh forest. The dog caught somewhere in the distance, she was passionately and plaintively answered another, the third - and suddenly the whole forest was rapid, exactly all the glass, from a stormy and scream. Shot firmly ran down among this gama - and everything was "brewed" and rolled somewhere in the distance. - Take care - and! - screamed someone desperate voice to the whole forest. "A, take care!" - Smoking thought flashes in the head. Gickneu on a horse and, as a breakdown from the chain, you will seek through the forest, nothing already disassembled along the way. Only trees flashed in front of her eyes. Yes, it scans in the face of dirt from under the hoofs of a horse. Pop up from the forest, you will see a lot of dogs on the green, stretching on the ground. Dogs of dogs and even stronger "Kirgiz" in front of the beast, - in the green, strains and stuffing, until finally, you will not pass into another island and do not hide from your eyes together with your eyes Mad lame and moan. Then, the whole wet and trembling from the voltage, besieged the foam, hoarse horse and greedily swallow the ice dampness of the forest valley. The cries of hunters and barking dogs will fall away, and around you are dead silence. The semi-walled terrain forest costs motionless, and it seems that you got into some kind of protected draws. Firmly smells from ravines mushroom damp, overheated leaves and wet woods. And the dampness from ravines is becoming more perceptive, in the forest it cold and darkens ... It's time for the night. But it is difficult to collect dogs after hunting. Horn in the forest is long and hopelessly, shovels, scream, scream and dog screams for a long time ... Finally, already in the dark, Vataga hunters in the estate of some almost unfamiliar bachelor's landowner and fills the entire courtyard's courtyard, which is illuminated Lanterns, candles and lamps, made towards guests from home ... It happened that such a hospitable neighbor hunting lived for several days. At the early morning dawn, on the ice wind and the first wet Zazimka, went to the forest and in the field, and again they were returned again, all in the mud, with the painted persons, having mastered the horse, and the wool of the animated beast was, - and the dross began. In the bright and crowded house very warmly after a whole day in the cold in the field. Everyone goes out of the room into the room in the unbutted clothes randomly drink and eat, noisily passing each other their impressions over the murdered Mother Wolf, who, squeezing his teeth, drowning his eyes, lies with a fluffy tail with a fluffy tail among the hall and paints his pale and already cold Blood Paul. After vodka and eat, you feel such a sweet fatigue, such a naga of young sleep that you hear a speech through the water. The weathered face is burning, but you crush my eyes - the whole earth is sailing under your feet. And when you lie down into bed, in a soft period, somewhere in the corner old room with an extension and lamp, sleep before the eyes of the ghosts of fire-motley dogs, the feeling of racing will be charged, and you will not notice how you will pick up with all these images and Feeling in a sweet and healthy dream, forgetting even that this room was once a prayer old man, whose name is surrounded by gloomy fortress legends, and that he died in this chapel, probably on the same bed. When it happened to sleep, the rest was especially pleasant. You wake up and have been lying in bed for a long time. In the whole house - silence. Hears how gentleman goes around the rooms gardener, melting the ovens, and how the firewood cracks and shoot. Ahead is a whole day of rest in a silent already in the winter manor. In no hurry, we will catch the garden, you will find a randomly forgotten cold and wet apple in wet foliage, and for some reason it will seem unusually tasty, not at all like others. Then you will not be for books, - Dedov books in thick leather bindings, with gold asteristers on Safian roots. These smells smell nicely, similar to church church of the book with their yellowed, thick rough paper! Some kind of pleasant sour mold, old spirits ... Good and notes on their fields, large and with round soft strokes made by a goose pen. We will expand the book and read: "The thought, worthy of ancient and new philosophers, the color of the mind and feeling of heart" ... and will be involuntarily passionate and the book itself. This is the "nobleman-philosopher", the allegory, crowded a hundred years ago, dependence of some "Cavallar of many orders" and printed in the printing house of the order of public charity, - a story about how "nobleman-philosopher, having time and ability to reason, What the mind of a person can crawl, received once a desire to compose the plan of light in the extensive place of his village "... Then you hang up on the" satirical and philosophical essays of Mr. Voltaire "and a long time to get a sweet and manner syllable of translation:" My state trucks! Erasmus composed in the sixth to stop the century praise to foolishness (the mannered pause, - the point with the busy); You order me to exhibit before you mind ... "Then you will move from Ekaterininskaya old to romantic times, to the almanacs, to a centiment, pompous and long novels ... The cuckoo pops up from the clock and mockingly sadly goes over to you in an empty house. And gradually in the heart begins to custody sweet and strange longing ... Here are the "Mystery of Alexis", here "Victor, or Child in the Forest": "Beats midnight! Sacred silence stands for day noise and cheerful songs in the fall. Sleep stretches the gloomy wings over the surface of our hemisphere; He grows darkness and dreams from them ... Dreams ... How often he continues tooccamo suffering a malleable vintage words: rocks and oaks, pale moon and loneliness, ghosts and ghosts, "Erota", Roses and lilies, "leprosy and suquestness of young shaluns", Lily Hand, Lyudmila and Alina ... But magazines with names: Zhukovsky, Batyushkova, Lyceist Pushkin. And with sadness I remember my grandmother, her polona on the keycorder, her Tomny reading of poems from Evgenia Onegin. And the old dreamy life will stand in front of you ... Good girls and women lived once in the noble estates! Their portraits look at me from the wall, the aristocratic-beautiful heads in ancient hairstyles meekly and feminine their long eyelashes on sad and tender eyes ...

IV.

The smell of Antonovsky apples disappears from landlords. These days were so recently, and meanwhile it seems to me that since then a little bit of a century has passed. Although Anna Gerasimovna died, Anna Gerasimovna died, arseny seeds shot ... The kingdom of small-position, impoverished before the beggar! .. But this nursing life is good! So I see myself again in the village, deep in autumn. Days are bluish, cloudy. In the morning I sit down in the saddle and with one dog, with a gun and with a horn I am leaving in the field. The wind is calling and buzzing in a blow of a gun, the wind blows tightly, sometimes with dry snow. I wander all day on empty plains ... Hungry and keen, I return to twilight in the estate, and it gets so warm and gratifying to the soul, when the lights are filled and pulled out of the estate by the smell of smoke, housing. I remember, we loved in our house at this time to "be helped", not to light fire and lead in a gentlemotion conversation. Entering into the house, I find the winter frames already inserted, and it even more configures me to peaceful winter way. In the Lacée worker, heats the stove, and I, as in childhood, in a squatting near the straw, sharply smelling with winter freshness, and look into the burning stove, then the windows, behind which, blue, sadly dying twilight. Then I go to the human. There is light and crowded: the girls are chopped by cabbage, flashed Sesh, I listen to their fractional, friendly knock and friendly, sad-cheerful village songs ... Sometimes some small -coming neighbor will come to him and takes me to himself ... Good and small -coming life ! The smaller rises early. Having reached firmly, he rises from bed and twists a thick cigarette from the cheap, black tobacco or simply from Machorka. The pale light of the early November morning illuminates a simple, with bare walls of the office, yellow and casual skins of foxes over the bed and a greenastic figure in the sharovar and disabled space, and in the mirror reflected the hollow face of the Tatar warehouse. In a half-walled, warm house dead silence. Over the door in the corridor, old cooking, who lived in the Lordskoe's house is still a girlfriend. This, however, does not prevent Barina hoarsely shout at home: - Lucker! Samovar! Then, putting the boots, thumping a trip on the shoulders and not a fastening gate of the shirt, he goes to the porch. In the locked seams smells a psyche; Lazily reaching the squeal, yawning and smiling, surround his hounds. - Open! - Slowly, indulgent bass says he and through the garden goes to Khumno. Its breasts breathing wide breathing with sharp air dashers and smells of choking overnight, naked garden. Curved and blackened from frost leaves rustle under boots in a birch alley, cut half. Walking on a low gloomy sky, sleeping the frozen tanks on Riga's crest ... Nice will be a day for hunting! And, stopping among the alleys, the barin looks for a long time in the autumn field, on the deserted green Oozimi, for which the calves roam. Two hounds of bitches are racing around his feet, and flooding already behind the garden: jumping over the knocked shocks, he seems to call and asks in the field. But what do you do now with the hounds? The beast is now in the field, on the postproofs, in the Blackotrop, and in the forest it is afraid, because in the forest the wind rustles foliage ... Eh, kabyii! In Riga begins throat. Slowly disagree, hammering drum ham. Lazily pulling the tights, resting his legs along the null circle and swing, go horses in the drive. In the middle of the drive, rotating on the bench, sits the chase and smokes on them alone, always whipped by whip only one brown Merine, who is lazy to all and completely sleeps on the go, the benefit of his eyes are tied. - Well, girls, girls! - Strictly shouts by a powerful feeder, touched into a wide canvas shirt. Girls hurriedly hide the current, run with stretchers, brooms. - With God blessing! - Says the served man, and the first bunch of an old woman, a broken on the sample, with a buzzing and a screech flies into the drum and the disheveled fan is ascended from under it up. And the drum is buzzing everything more insistent, work boils, and soon all the sounds merge into a common pleasant noise of threshing. Barin stands at the gate of Riga and looks like in her darkness red and yellow scarves, hands, rakes, straw, and all this is moving and fussing under the hum of drum and a single cry and whistle of the charter. Hobwithy clouds flies to the goal. Barin stands, the whole bit from him. Often he looks in the field ... Soon the fields will soon be taken, soon it will cover their zasimok ... Zzimok, first snow! There are no greyhounds, not to hunt in November. But winter comes, "work" begins with hounds. And again, as in former times, fine-positions come down to each other, drink for the last money, for all days they disappear in the snow fields. And in the evening, on some deaf farm, the fligeel window is far away in the dark. There, in this small fatel, swim clubs smoke, silent candles burn dimly, the guitar is configured ...

And I don't see myself in the house, and again in a summer evening, and again alone. The sun was disappeared behind the crumbling garden, left an empty room, an empty living room, where it happily shone all day. Now only the last beam is lonely blushing in the corner on the parquet, between the high legs of some old table. And, God, how painful his silent and sad lovely! And late in the evening, when the garden already covered the windows over the windows with all his mysterious night black, and I lay in the dark bedroom in my baby bed, everything looked at me on the window, from the height of some silent star ... What did she need from me? What did she say to me without words, where was it, what reminded?

(I. Bunin) (110 words)

Task (to choose students)

What lexical, morphological and syntactic tools help the author to express their feelings, their relationship to the described?
Perform spelling and punctuation analysis of text.
Stress the pronouns as members of the sentence. Determine their discharge, explain the writing.