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No matter how many books one read, each was different, as each human being was different. Melusine, starved of colour for years, revelled in it. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. Mutual concessions!—and then to turn it around so that it suggested that an act of kindness might be interpreted as moral obloquy! Walls; queer, invisible walls that receded whenever she reached out, but that still remained between her and what she sought. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. ‘Tell me about the convent? Were you happy there? They were kind to you, the nuns?’ ‘Oh, but yes.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 16:49:24