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” “You would let him—knowing—all that you know?” “Why not? She is my flesh and blood. I don’t want to Bowdlerize Shakespeare. “I’ll bring it to-morrow. Ennison,” she said. He had found her by the same agency her father had: native talk, which flew from isle to isle as fast as proas could carry it. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 29-09-2024 03:55:59