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- I wish I were with you somewhere on the banks of a quiet river ...

- What happened next? - the girl asked just as quietly, distracting herself from the monologue about horses.

- And then the section would be ... - I whispered, squeezing my palm tighter. And for a long, long time...

- Stop it, - Fox smiled embarrassedly, looking away. - But it sounds good. Even too much.

With a satisfied smile, he leaned back on the bag of flour and yawned. The fox sank onto my shoulder, squirmed, settling herself more comfortably.

- ... then I thought: what if the horse would live like us? Chose whether to work or not? Did you decide how to spend your time?

“Honest to God, I’ll get sick of it and bury it by the road ...” the peasant, who was sitting behind the reins on the front of the cart, angrily muttered.

- I think, - continued Chatterbox, - that the horses would not work. Well, who in their right mind would subscribe to such hard labor? Plow fields for people! Nearby is a field with lush grass,
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