Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. Wood was once a favourite of yours. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. She could still remember his face, the perpetually wet lips that turned down at the sides, his drooping Roman eyes. She had never been so happy to vomit.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 18:32:20