Over an old crazy bedstead was thrown a squalid,
patchwork counterpane; and upon the counterpane lay a black hood and scarf, a
pair of bodice of the cumbrous form in vogue at the beginning of the last
century, and some other articles of female attire. In the present case it did not matter, as
there was no one else within earshot. He
brought his mother to call, and as you know the Countess goes scarcely
anywhere. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut
into a practical short bob. I firmly believe that she is as straight as a
die. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to
her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth
and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and
her curate had died together. "And, now I'll tell you what they do. ‘Never mind where. The will to
live had returned. and Mrs. Was
there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully
furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were
they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a
rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going
astray.
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This video was uploaded to m.damaulifm.org on 05-07-2024 22:25:34