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Vera didn't believe in divination. Girlfriends still persuaded her to join the party with Christmas fortune-telling. We decided to meet with Olga, who lived in a neighboring house. Vera decided that if she became completely bored, she would quickly leave under some pretext.

At first everything went well, because they told how they spent the New Year, discussed relationships with lovers, if they were.

Then the lights in the room were turned off, leaving only lit candles. We started with divination on wax. Trying to find something realistic in their figures, everyone laughed for a long time. Then Olga remembered the old divination for her betrothed. For this, a magic circle was taken, along which, it was supposed, the arrow should move under the influence of the general energy. The girls decided that they should start with Vera, because she did not even have a permanent young man. At first, the magic arrow stood rooted to the spot. Then Olga read some strange text, and the arrow began to move. True, the phrase that she issued was incomprehensible and even terrible: "Sore leg." All the girls thought that Vera was going to be married to a lame man, which immediately created a dreary mood. The girlfriends vied with each other to reassure Vera, building their own versions of what this could mean. Faith was uncomfortable. Angry at her compassionate friends, Vera said:

- Ihome.

Without explanation, I got up, got dressed and went outside. The winter evening landscape lifted my spirits a little. The snow was beautifully silvery, additionally decorated with fireworks and fireworks confetti. Admiring all this, she took the first step and collapsed on the slippery porch. The hellish pain in her leg made Vera scream for the whole yard. “So that’s what fortune-telling warned about!” Vera thought and began to examine her leg. Judging by the sensations, there was clearly a fracture. Then a handsome young man of about 30 ran up to Vera.

- Girl! Are you okay?

- Not really, Vera replied.

He ran off somewhere, returned with two planks, which he attached to his sore leg and bandaged with his clearly expensive branded scarf.

- Just don't move your leg, okay?

Vera nodded. A few seconds later he was already driving Vera to the hospital in his jeep. It turned out that Nikolai, as the savior was called, was a surgeon himself, who had just returned from a shift, but was forced to come back to his own hospital with a patient.

The cast that Vera had on that day is now kept as a family heirloom. “Sore leg” - this is how Vera, sometimes, in the manner of the Indians, calls her husband Nikolai, who gave her not only he alth, but also unlimited happiness.

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