" It was curiously
like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father
paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the
Word. “Most of it is ugly and frowsy,” she declared, “but it isn’t worth talking about. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a
hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. Her aunt was blandly amiable above a certain tremulous
undertow, and talked as if to a caller about the alarming spread of marigolds that
summer at the end of the garden, a sort of Yellow Peril to all the smaller hardy
annuals, while her father brought some papers to table and presented himself as
preoccupied with them. It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of
methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. James’ Park?”
Anna nodded, and made a careful selection from a dish of quails.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 07-07-2024 08:08:03