Moored to the steps, several wherries were dancing in the rushing current, as if impatient of restraint. From the opposite corner under the trees a man with his hat slouched over his eyes stood and glowered at them. He went into the study and sat down at his table, but not to write. She could not be more than twenty; and though want and other suffering had done the work of time, had wasted her frame, and robbed her cheek of its bloom and roundness, they had not extinguished the lustre of her eyes, nor thinned her raven hair. I wonder what men would say if we threw the mask aside—if we really told them what WE thought of them, really showed them what WE were.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 04-07-2024 21:10:36
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