She was in one of her old
walking-dresses, her hair was done in an unfamiliar manner, she wore a
wedding-ring, and she looked as if she had been crying. ‘And I
wouldn’t be no sort of a man if I’d heard what I heard, and gone off and left
you. But I liked to say it. “We’re in for it. "
"Are they good?"
"He can write; but he hasn't found anything real to write about. As if we didn’t know! The practical trouble is our ages. I suppose my creed is, ‘I believe rather indistinctly in
God the Father Almighty, substratum of the evolutionary process, and, in a vein
of vague sentimentality that doesn’t give a datum for anything at all, in Jesus
Christ, His Son. His noble Florentine roots went back a thousand years, to
the days of grand Rome herself. "
And, with a few magical touches, he stamped the fleeting expression on the
canvass. “Come upstairs,” she said, “and I will show you your room. ’
She eyed him, all her uncertainty surfacing. “Are you cold?” He asked her, cocking his head to one
side like a puppy, so close that the heat of his words
warmed her cheek. A wide terrace then led to large iron gates,' over which were
placed the two celebrated figures of Raving and Melancholy Madness, executed
by the elder Cibber, and commemorated by Pope in the Dunciad, in the wellknown lines:—
"Close to those walls where Folly holds her throne,
And laughs to think Monroe would take her down,
Where, o'er the gates, by his famed father's hand,
Great Cibber's brazen, brainless brothers stand. His eyes were
fixed upon her face, but he opened his lips twice before he spoke. So she said: “I won’t come home.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 28-06-2024 21:58:02