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“Was I that bad?” He asked. “This,” he said, and then: “No! Is this
sweeter? Very well. Her aunt did not object to capital punishment or war, or the industrial system
or casual wards, or flogging of criminals or the Congo Free State, because none
of these things really got hold of her imagination; but she did object, she did not
like, she could not bear to think of people not having and enjoying their meals. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked
at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?”
“I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. He saw her, dripping with
rosy pearls, rise out of the lagoon in the dawn light: he saw her flashing to and
fro among the coco palms in the moonshine: he saw her breasting the hurricane,
her body as full of grace and beauty as the Winged Victory of the Louvre. I will confide it to
Father Spencer, who will acquaint you with it when I am no more.
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This video was uploaded to m.damaulifm.org on 10-07-2024 00:49:14