The snow kept falling. Little Tolya wrapped in a blanket, flipping through the mathematics textbook in his hand.
The mathematics textbook was yellowed and brittle, evidently having been there for many years. Little Tolya had to handle it with care. The door was shut tight. The radiator buzzed softly; it was surprising that this nearly thirty-year-old piece of machinery could still function.
The room was very quiet. There were no sounds of men and women fighting. Little Tolya could read in peace.
These books had been stored in the attic for a long time. Their previous owner was Little Tolya's grandfather, a mathematics professor. It was said that thirty years ago, he fled from the Federation to the enemy country across the ocean.
At that time, this was something everyone envied. There was a joke circulating back then, saying the best mathematics research institution would have "Federation buildings and Russian professors."
