She was lovely,
painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her
to be. She had never
been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. She wondered what the problem
was, why the buildup?
She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but
stayed herself. "
"Impossible!" rejoined his mother. He was now aided
with a powerful implement, with which he soon contrived to make a hole in the
wall. A hazy face appeared through the fog
of sleep, pale and thin and looming. She spent many days in the castle
alone as he busied himself with his alchemy, or traveled
to Florence to visit his remaining political connections. By degrees, his fears vanished, and hearing nothing, he grew calmer. That there would eventually be a lover Ruth knew; and she waited his
appearance upon the scene, waited with an impatience which was both personal
and literary. She wedged the towel between her
legs. We sha’n’t hang up on any misunderstanding. ’
‘I know,’ he said, smiling.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 27-06-2024 13:50:53