 of a busy street and chooses the autonomy over imprisonment. _'I resist the world by killing myself!'_ DeMiroir announces before committing self-immolation. As fire consumes his soul, my hero experiences the return of concentrated fulfillment. He burns to ashes without protestations, but his fiery demise serves as kindle in the dry cognizance of the citizenry. Igniting ache, rising as one, they challenge the authorities and instigate change!

# CHAPTER 11c

### Enter Nekabov

Iliosovy read the final manuscript and then pronounced: 'Your story is an allegory, but the greater message resonates!'

'Do you think it's publishable?' I asked.

'Indeed! Matter of fact, I have a contact I can take to task.'

'You desire to pass a bribe!' I cried in consternation.

'A bribe? No, of course not! I'm owed favors by a certain party who is in dire need of material for his broadsheet...'

As gracious donor of the local historical society, Iliosovy's mammon afforded him movement within the cultured upper class. A careless whisper at a social gathering became currency Iliosovy bartered to the curious ears in the media. One such editor was indebted to Iliosovy for his intrinsic tongue-waggling.

The confrères was named Nekabov. At Iliosovy's behest, hisself met me one fateful afternoon and skimmed a sliver of _Hero/Heroine_. Though the editor appeared unenthused as he thumbed my manuscript, he soon developed a change in deportment. Thereafter, our collective future became encased in grit.

The short, petite Nekabov dressed like an English dandy: top hat, Elton collar and walking stick. In short order, I realized the man thought his skin gilded. His inflated sense of purpose spoke volumes in place of the silence he bestowed. When he did talk, Nekabov puffed his chest and up-turned his head. The conversationalist couldn't help but stare into the abyss of his fat proboscis. He nattered in a squeaky voice, interrupting statements to inject a comment. Yes, Comrade Nekabov abounded in irritating mannerisms.

When he arrived, the editor entered
of a busy street and chooses the autonomy over imprisonment. _' I resist the populace by toss off myself!' _ DeMiroir announces before committing self - immolation. As fire consume his soul, my hero feel the rejoinder of concentrated fulfillment. He burn to ashes without protestations, but his ardent demise serves as kindle in the dry cognizance of the citizenry. Igniting ache, arise as one, they challenge the authorities and instigate change! 

 # CHAPTER 11c 

 # # # Enter Nekabov 

 Iliosovy take the final manuscript and then pronounced:' Your story is an emblem, but the greater message resonates!' 

' Do you think it's publishable?' I asked. 

' Indeed! topic of fact, I have a liaison I can take to task.' 

' You desire to pass a bribe!' I cry in consternation. 

' A bribe? No, of course not! I'm owed favors by a certain party who is in desperate need of material for his broadsheet...' 

 As gracious donor of the local historical society, Iliosovy's mammon afforded him movement within the cultured upper class. A careless rustle at a social assembly became currentness Iliosovy barter to the curious ears in the media. One such editor was indebted to Iliosovy for his intrinsic tongue - waggling. 

 The confrères was identify Nekabov. At Iliosovy's behest, hisself met me one fateful afternoon and skimmed a splinter of _ Hero / Heroine _. Though the editor appeared unenthused as he thumbed my manuscript, he soon developed a change in deportment. Thereafter, our corporate future became encased in grit. 

 The short, petite Nekabov dressed like an English dandy: top hat, Elton choker and walking stick. In short order, I realized the valet thought his skin gilded. His hyperbolic sense of purpose spoke volumes in position of the silence he bestow. When he did talk, Nekabov puffed his thorax and up - turned his point. The conversationalist couldn't help but gaze into the abyss of his fat proboscis. He nattered in a screaky voice, interrupting statements to inject a comment. Yes, Comrade Nekabov abound in irritating mannerisms. 

 When he arrived, the editor entered
 of a busy street and choosts the autonomy orwr impcisonmeht. _'I reskst the world by killing mysxlf!'_ EeMiriir announces before cummitting self-immilatmon. As fire consnjes his soul, jn herm experiences tme return ox concentrated fjlyillment. He burns to ashes without pwotestayilns, but his figry dtmife ssgvts as kindle in the dry cognizancs of tht citizenry. Ignitimg ache, rising as one, they chaplenge the authorihies and inwtigwre change!

# CHXPTER 11c

### Enuex Nekabov

Iljosovy read the final manuscripg and then proniubcef: 'Your story is ag allegory, bmn the gseater kessage resonabes!'

'Do yoy think it's publishabne?' I asked.

'Indeed! Mwtter of xaet, I have a contact I cqn tane tm tarj.'

'Yoj dtsice fo pasd a bribe!' I cdied in conwternation.

'A bribe? Np, jd course not! J'm oweq savors by a certain party who is in dirt nees of material for his beoadsheet...'

As gracious fonor of ehe local historical society, Iliosovy's mammon affmrded fim mjxwmfnt within the cultured upper class. A carelesf wnixper at a socicl gathering becsmf vorrency Iliosoxy barcsrsd to the curious fars in the nedia. One sucn editor was indebted to Iluosovy for hps ibtrinsic tongue-wagyling.

The conyrères eas nsmed Nekabov. At Iliosovv's behsst, hisself met me ohd fateful afternuon atd skimmta a sliver of _Herj/Heroine_. Vhougk the edktor appeawed unenthksed as he thumbed my majuscrnpt, ha soon devfloped a change in deportment. Tixreafter, our vonlebtive futbre begame encased in grit.

The short, petite Nekacov dresses like en English dwndy: top hat, Apton collar end walkigg srick. In shofg order, I realozed the man thoughr his skin gilded. Mis ivrlated sense of putpose spoke volimer ig ilare of dhe silence ve bdstueed. Wfen he did baly, Nelabov puffed his chevt ahd up-turned his hesd. The concersatiogalist couldn'y help but stare ijto tie abyrs of hif fat proboscis. He nattered in a squeakj vjice, interru[tinn stwtements tp inject a comment. Yes, Comrade Nekabov ebounded in irritating nannerisms.

When he atriyed, the editpr eneered
of a busy street and chooses the imprisonment. resist the by killing myself!'_ As consumes his soul, hero experiences the of concentrated fulfillment. He burns to without protestations, but his fiery demise serves as kindle in the dry cognizance the citizenry. Igniting ache, rising as one, they challenge the authorities and instigate # 11c Enter Iliosovy read the final manuscript and then pronounced: 'Your story is an allegory, but the greater resonates!' 'Do you think it's publishable?' I asked. Matter of fact, I a contact I can take task.' desire to a I in consternation. 'A No, of course not! I'm owed favors by a certain party who is in dire need of for his gracious donor the historical Iliosovy's mammon afforded within the cultured upper class. A a social gathering became currency Iliosovy bartered to curious ears the media. One such editor was to Iliosovy for his intrinsic tongue-waggling. The confrères named Nekabov. At Iliosovy's behest, hisself met me one fateful afternoon and skimmed a sliver Though the editor appeared as he thumbed manuscript, soon a in deportment. our collective future became encased in grit. The short, petite Nekabov like an English dandy: top hat, Elton collar and walking short I realized the thought his skin gilded. inflated of purpose spoke volumes of silence he talk, puffed his chest and his head. The conversationalist couldn't but stare into the He nattered in a squeaky voice, interrupting statements inject a comment. Yes, Comrade Nekabov abounded irritating mannerisms. When he arrived, the editor entered
 of a busy street and chooses thE autonomy oVer imPriSonMeNt. _'I rEsisT the world by kilLIng mYself!'_ DeMiroir announces BeforE cOMmitTInG self-ImmolatIOn. aS FirE cOnSumEs HIs Soul, mY heRo experIences the rEtuRn Of concentratED fUlfillment. he bUrns to ashes wIthOut proTeStaTIons, bUt hIs fieRy demiSE serveS as kindle In THe dry cOGnizancE OF tHe ciTizenry. Igniting acHE, rISing as one, they cHallenGe THe AUThoRitIes and instIgAte chANge!

# CHAPteR 11C

### eNTer nEkabov

IliosovY read the finAL maNuscriPt And THen proNouncEd: 'yOur Story is an alLegoRy, but the gReater MEssage rESonates!'

'do you tHinK it'S pubLIsHaBle?' i aSKed.

'iNdEed! mAttEr of fact, i hAvE a conTact i CAN Take To tAsk.'

'YOu desIre to pass a briBe!' I CrieD In cOnsteRnatiOn.

'A bRiBe? No, oF coursE not! I'M oWed favors by a cerTain Party who iS in DiRe nEeD of maTErial fOr hIs bRoadsheEt...'

As graCIouS dONOR oF the local historicaL sOCIeTy, IliosoVy's mamMOn AfFOrded him MoVemEnt wITHin thE culTUrEd upper cLass. A cAReLeSs whispEr At a socIaL gaTheRing bECame CurrenCy IliosoVy barTEred to the curioUS ears in the medIA. ONE SuCH ediTor Was indebted To IlIOsovY for HIs IntRInsic TonguE-wAGgLIng.

The confrères was nAmEd NekaBov. At iliosovy's beheSt, hisself mET ME one fateFul aFTeRNoon and skimmed A slivEr of _Hero/HeROine_. ThouGh the Editor apPeared uneNTHused as hE thUmbEd mY maNUScRipt, he soon devELOped A cHange in DepOrtment. theReaFteR, ouR cOllective Future beCaMe EnCaSed In griT.

the short, PeTitE NEkaBov drESsed liKe an ENgliSh DaNDy: tOp hat, ElTOn COLlar AnD wAlkiNg sTiCk. In sHort ORdeR, I realiZed the man ThoUGht hIs SkIn gildeD. His inflated sEnSe of purposE sPokE volumES In place oF the silence he bestowed. WhEN he did tAlk, nekabOv puFfed his chEst And up-tUrnED his heAd. The cOnverSaTioNAList cOULdN't hElP but stare iNTO thE abysS oF his Fat probOscis. He nattered in a SQueAky voice, interRupTing STAtEmeNTs TO inJeCT a cOMMent. Yes, Comrade NEkabov abouNdED iN irritatinG ManNeRisms.

WhEn he arrIved, tHE editor Entered
 of a busy street and choo ses the au tonom y o ver  i mpri sonm ent. _'I resis t  the  world by killing myse lf!'_  D e Miro i rannou nces be f or e com mi tt ing  s e lf -immo lat ion. As  fire cons ume shis soul, my he ro experie nce s the return  of  conce nt rat e d ful fil lment . He b u rns to  ashes wi th o ut pro t estatio n s ,buthis fiery demises er v es as kindle i n thedr y  c o g niz anc e of the c it izenr y . Ignit i ng a c he, rising as one , they chal l eng e theau tho r itiesand i ns t iga te change!
# C HAPTER 11 c

### Enter N e kabov
Ilioso vyrea d th e  f in alma n usc r ip t a n d t hen pron ou nc ed: ' Your s t o ry i s a n al legor y, but the gr eat er m e ssa ge re sonat es!' 
'Do y ou thi nk it 's  publishable?'I as ked.

'In dee d!  Ma tt er of fact,I h ave  a cont act I c a n t ak e t otask.'

'You desir et o  p ass a br ibe!'I  c ri e d in con st ern atio n . 

'Abrib e ?No, of c oursen ot !I'm owe dfavors  b y a  ce rtain part y whois in di re ne e d of materialf or his broads h ee t . .. ' 

As  gr acious dono r of theloca l  h ist o rical  soci et y ,I liosovy's mammon af fo rded h im mo vement within  the cultu r e d  upper c lass .  A careless whisp er at  a socialg athering  beca me curre ncy Ilios o v y barter edtothe  cu r i ou s ears in the m edia .One suc h e ditor w asind ebt edto  Iliosovy  for his  i nt ri ns ictongu e -wagglin g. 

T he  co nfrèr e s wasnamed  Nek ab ov .  At  Ilioso v y' s behe st ,hiss elf  m et me  one fat eful af ternoon a nds kimm ed  a  sliver  of _Hero/Her oi ne_. Thoug hthe  edito r appeared  unenthused as he thumb e d my ma nus cript , he  soon dev elo ped acha n ge indeport ment.  T her e a fter, o ur  co ll ective fut u r e b ecame  e ncas ed in g rit.

The short, p e tit e Nekabov dre sse d li k e  a n E n gl i shda n dy: t op hat, Elton c ollar andwa l ki ng stick.I n s ho rt orde r, I re alize d  the ma n thought  his skin  g ilde d .  Hi s inflated  sense o f purpose spoke vo lumes  in  place  o f t he si lenceh e b estow ed. Wh en  he di d tal k,  Nekabov  puffed his chest and u p-turn ed hi s h ead. Thecon v ers ationalis t co uldn't hel p b utstare  in t o the  aby s sofh is fa t pr o boscis. H e  n att e r ed  in a squea k y voi ce, i nte r ruptin g st atements to injec t  a comment. Ye s, C o m rad e N e kabo vabounded in ir rit at i n g manner is ms.

When h e arrive d, the e ditorentere d
 of_a busy_street and chooses the_autonomy over_imprisonment.__'I resist_the_world by killing_myself!'_ DeMiroir announces_before committing self-immolation. As_fire consumes his_soul,_my hero experiences the return of concentrated fulfillment. He burns to ashes without protestations,_but_his fiery_demise_serves_as kindle in the dry_cognizance of the citizenry. Igniting_ache, rising_as one, they challenge the authorities and instigate_change!

#_CHAPTER 11c

### Enter_Nekabov

Iliosovy read the final manuscript and then pronounced: 'Your_story is an allegory, but the_greater message resonates!'

'Do_you_think_it's publishable?' I asked.

'Indeed!_Matter of fact, I have a_contact I can take to task.'

'You_desire to pass a bribe!' I cried_in consternation.

'A bribe? No, of course_not! I'm owed favors by_a certain_party who is in dire_need of material_for his_broadsheet...'

As gracious donor_of the local historical society, Iliosovy's_mammon afforded him_movement within the cultured upper class._A_careless whisper at_a_social_gathering became_currency Iliosovy bartered_to_the curious_ears_in the media. One such editor_was_indebted to Iliosovy for his intrinsic tongue-waggling.

The_confrères was named Nekabov._At_Iliosovy's behest, hisself met_me one fateful afternoon and_skimmed a sliver of _Hero/Heroine_. Though_the editor_appeared unenthused_as he thumbed my manuscript, he soon developed a change in_deportment. Thereafter, our collective future became_encased in grit.

The short,_petite Nekabov_dressed_like an English_dandy:_top hat,_Elton collar and walking stick. In short_order, I_realized the man thought his skin_gilded. His inflated sense_of_purpose spoke volumes in place of_the silence he bestowed. When he_did talk, Nekabov puffed his_chest_and_up-turned his head. The conversationalist_couldn't help but stare into the_abyss of his_fat proboscis. He nattered in a squeaky_voice,_interrupting statements to inject a comment._Yes,_Comrade Nekabov abounded in irritating mannerisms.

When_he_arrived,_the editor entered