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For her it was sufficient to know that somebody wanted her, that never again would she be alone, that always this boy with the dreams would be depending upon her. That person advanced towards him. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. She wore a plain black dress, reaching almost to her throat—her small oval face, with the large brown eyes, was colourless, delicately expressive, yet with something mysterious in its Sphinx-like immobility. ‘Don’t tell me.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 03:07:40