Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. John finally wrested her away from the company of his parents, insisting that he wanted to take a walk in the park before it was completely dark. ‘But I don’t trust you an inch. ‘You usually do,’ he said lightly. I do, however.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 07-06-2024 05:44:16
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