“Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. ‘You
said?’
‘Mrs Sindlesham, your great-aunt, miss. ” He put his hands on her shoulders and
lowered her onto the flat surface of the picnic bench. THAMES DARRELL. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and
Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato. Am I so forgettable?”
He strode down the hall as she ran to catch up with him
past lockers someone had painted an abysmal shade of
gray blue. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons
the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the
Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and
motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace
Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of
those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up
from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining
overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs,
carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. "Children," said the aunt, first to awake, "be young fools as long as God will
permit you.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOS4xMTkuMjYgLSAwNS0wNy0yMDI0IDAxOjI5OjA3IC0gMTY5OTY4MDk3MA==
This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 01-07-2024 15:09:14