- Just give me my clothes! — Just — I can’t. Give me the phone number. — Have you completely lost your nerve, Tarkhanov? — I never had it, Alëna Maksimovna. — I’ll twist your ears off, got it, boy? — he narrows his eyes angrily. — Come on… begin… — I lean forward toward her lips. He stalls, pressing his palms against my chest. — I’ll complain to the Devil! — her voice trembles plaintively. — Tell-tale… — I smile provocatively at her, taking a step back and opening my shirt. — Please. Evil snatches it out of my hands. And quickly putting it on, with trembling fingers, fastens the bottom button. — If I were you, I’d start with the top one, — I look at her quivering chest. — And what’s happening here? — a voice comes from behind. How untimely!