"My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. The London backgrounds, in Bloomsbury and Marylebone, against which these people went to and fro, took on, by reason of their gray facades, their implacably respectable windows and window-blinds, their reiterated unmeaning iron railings, a stronger and stronger suggestion of the flavor of her father at his most obdurate phase, and of all that she felt herself fighting against. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. So I made haste and recovered.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 12-09-2024 04:57:34
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