“Next door,” said a spectacled young person of seventeen or eighteen, with an
impatient indication of the direction. In one angle of the room stood a disused fire-place, with a rusty
grate and broken chimney-piece; in the other there was a sort of box, contrived
between the wall and the boards, that looked like an apology for a cupboard. Understand me! I forbid it. Saviour's Church. From
the sounds of it, he was better off dead. That shining
slope of snow, and how we talked of death! We might have died! Even when we
are old, when we are rich as we may be, we won’t forget the tune when we cared
nothing for anything but the joy of one another, when we risked everything for
one another, when all the wrappings and coverings seemed to have fallen from
life and left it light and fire.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 07-07-2024 00:22:13