A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. I mean my cut-offs and boots. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxOC4zLjIwNCAtIDIxLTA5LTIwMjQgMjE6MDQ6MTAgLSAxOTY1MTM2NDUw
This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 20-09-2024 20:10:07
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