How I could have been such a fool I’ll never know. It had gone with the rest. ‘Get you invited to a party where the French émigrés will be present? Nothing easier, dear boy. He sat down on the sill of the open window, folded his arms, and stared straight before him for a long time over the wilderness of tiles and chimney-pots into a sky that was blue and empty. Ruth was inflammable; she would always be flaring up swiftly, in pity, in tenderness, in anger; she would always be answering impulses, without seeking to weigh or to analyse them. For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 02-10-2024 04:32:32