There was a
mad musician, seemingly rapt in admiration of the notes he was extracting from
a child's violin. As she did so, the ruffles to the jacket of her riding habit fell away, exposing
livid blue bruises about her wrist, ugly in the light of day from the window at
their back. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always
looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and
raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her,
echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and
enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. This
was the bitterest hour he had ever known. “Yes I did. ‘Come,’ she called. And I want you for myself—for
my wife. "
Jack made no answer, nor did he even cast his eyes upon his follower. 1 through 1.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 26-06-2024 10:39:00