"SOS," the fortuneteller wrote. - "The bear is torn to pieces, there is no bouquet, failure!"

She sent it with a heavy sigh, looking around the apartment for the perpetrator of the disgrace. But Archie was, though small, but very smart dog: he did not show his nose, he did not give a voice. He felt the guilt behind himself and skillfully hid until better times.

"Calmly. A spatial message about the weather and the gift will do the trick,” came the advice.

What? Did I misheard? Or Vanya so perversely scoffs?

"I'm serious," came next. “Write to Smolov: a magnificent day smells of scarlet roses,”

"What about the bear?"...