”
The figure of her aunt, a little distant, a little propitiatory, behind the coffee
things, filled her with a sense of almost catastrophic adventure. "My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and
bursting into tears. "You are Ruth?"
"Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. In your heart you know very well that this is
absurd. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. "
"Company!" echoed Rachel; "at this time of night?"
"Company, child," repeated Kneebone. “My dear,” the letter ran, “I have to tell you that your sister Gwen has offended
your father very much. He wrote
poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly
infinite memory. Ann Veronica brought her luggage in a cab from the hotel; she tipped the hotel
porter sixpence and overpaid the cabman eighteenpence, unpacked some of her
books and possessions, and so made the room a little homelike, and then sat
down in a by no means uncomfortable arm-chair before the fire. ‘You’d do the same. There must be real
Valjeans, else how could authors write about them? Supposing some day she met
one of these astonishing creators, who could make one cry and laugh and forget,
who could thrill one with love and anger and tenderness?
Most of us have witnessed carnivals. It is putting all my dreams out
of joint.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 26-06-2024 16:26:41