I know кочё ссыль качидо опдан коль Хаджиман кынёwa талли нан ноль Щwипке нwaджуль мами опгодын (Never let go) You don’t know me

It was Christmas Eve. The snow had clad the rolling hills in white, as if in preparation for the sacred morrow. The winds, boisterous all day long, at fall of night ceased to roar amidst the naked forest, and now, the silent industry of the falling flakes made of pine and spruce tall white tents. At last, as the darkness grew, a deepening stillness came on hill and valley, and all nature seemed to wait expectant of the coming of the Christmas time. Above the broad river a long, gray stone house...