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She imagined herself on a barren 41 plain, post-Apocalypse, convulsing, waiting to die with the cockroach. The tired woman looked quietly at her. Missy is into the witchcraft stuff, Wicca, nothing bad or anything. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. " "Oh!" exclaimed the widow, covering her face with her hands. To be free of outward distraction, he shut his eyes and concentrated upon the scraps she had given him; and shortly, with his eyes still closed, he began to describe Ruth's island: the mountain at one end, with the ever-recurring scarves of mist drifting across the lava-scarred face; the jungle at the foot of it; the dazzling border of white sand; the sprawling store of the trader and the rotting wharf, sundrily patched with drift-wood; the native huts on the sandy floor of the palm groves; the scattered sandalwood and ebony; the screaming parakeets in the plantains; the fishing proas; the mission with its white washed walls and barren frontage; the lagoon, fringed with coco palms, now ruffled emerald, now placid sapphire.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 04:17:15