On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. He recoiled from the sting. But what else he saw fit to teach her I do not care to stipulate. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 22-09-2024 13:10:42
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