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He laughed once or twice at himself as he paced backwards and forwards. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. “You are mistaken, David. When I carried you up here like a bride, that is the way I wanted us to be, Mary Lucia. There was a mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from a child's violin. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 07:48:00