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His anxious eyes often stopped on her window. She leaned back, troubled at the thought that he could see her ... Why did she almost always find him in the yard at the time of her departure and arrival from work? Did he feel the need for revenge on her? As she passed him, she did not look up, but she felt the burning of his gaze fixed on her. Then she heard a whisper. It was like an opinion, as a movement of air, "Damn Russian woman!" ...When she reached the street, she shook herself, driving away from the unpleasant sensations. The green mirrors reflected the opening of the street. Passers-by measured her eyes. She felt their admiring looks like a refreshing shower. She was young and beautiful; she was used to moving in the rain of benevolent looks.
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