his shoulders. “Who do you think you are?! You…” he muttered under his breath through his teeth. “Yes, it’s all me, you’re not mistaken! But that portrait should not be thrown away, it’s just short-sighted decision. Imagine what Bagila will think,” Malika said more gently, wishing, on the one hand, for reconciliation with Sargel, who stood frozen as a corpse, and on the other, a little wary of him. Sargel didn’t say a word. Finally, after being frozen for what felt an eternity, life reappeared in his eyes. He put his hands behind his back and walked out. “Now his heart will seize again,” thought Malika with anguish. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed so hard? Oh, to hell with him, it’s his own fault!” She separated the children, who were grappling over some trifle. “If you’re full, go to bed,” she called out. “You won’t be able to wake up tomorrow. Come on, get up from the table!” After wiping the children’s hands and mouths, she sent them to their rooms. “Lie down and no talking, alright!” Seemingly understanding the mood of their mother, the children, pouting, silently began to undress. Malika went to Bagila. “Did you quarrel again?” Bagila asked, raising her head from her book. “Of course, what else can I do with him!” “Is it because of me again?” “No, because of the artist.” “Because of what artist…? Ah, did he remember our trip to Medeo.” Malika smiled softly: “Let’s go into the corridor.” Bagila, catching her slippers on the way, went after Malika. Seeing the portrait, she did not understand at first, and then arched an eyebrow. She raised her hands to her cheeks and her face flushed. “So, do you recognise the face? Unlike Sar, you fig- ured it out quickly. He thought that it was me,” Malika said, watching how Bagila was stunned looking first at the portrait, then at her. Bagila came to her senses with difficulty. “I don’t think it’s anything special…” she said un- certainly and with a tremor in her voice. “How is it nothing special?” “He saw me once and immediately drew me… Shame on him, right Lika?” “You didn’t go to pose for him. Or did you…” “What are you saying?!” “Then there is nothing to be ashamed of. If anything, this is not your portrait, this is an artist’s fantasy based on his fleeting memories! It’s nobody’s
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