We are not animals. The villain has enjoyed his security too long. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. And it filled seven sheets of
notepaper, each written only on one side. He was a civil servant of some
standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious,
nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he
described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather
carefully finished verse. Better to remain silent. “Now I should like to know,” she said, looking at him with a quiet smile, “what
you are doing here? It is not a particularly inspiring neighbourhood for walking
about by yourself. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came
“growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme
seriousness. “Excellent fellow!” he answered a little irrelevantly. I'm not hungry.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 28-06-2024 12:08:44