The woman I wanted was another man's wife. The man looked hard at him. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally. Later that night, after she had cleaned herself and changed her clothes, he returned. “I am sorry,” she said, “if you find the likeness unsatisfactory. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. She understood.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 13-09-2024 18:39:08
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