"But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. The movement was fatal to her son. She followed him about persistently, and succeeded, after a brisk,
unchivalrous struggle (in which he pinched and asked her to “cheese it”), in
kissing him among the raspberries behind the greenhouse. They’re in grad
school and they both live in New York. ‘Me, I have a name. He learnt that his sister was privately married—the
name or rank of her husband could not be ascertained—and living in retirement
in an obscure dwelling in the Borough, where she had given birth to a son. And in these crowded four weeks,
what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes
and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows,
only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had
plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. So dreadful were these
shouts as to produce an effect upon the hardened feelings of Jonathan, who
shrank out of sight. “I’d rather go as a chorus-girl,” she said. "
In spite of her displeasure, Winifred could not help smiling at the absurdity of
this address.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 21-07-2024 02:57:21