“Who the hell are you, Lucy?” “Promise me you will never tell anyone. And then presently these clouds began to wear thin and expose steep, deep slopes, going down and down, with grass and pine-trees, down and down, and at last, through a great rent in the clouds, bare roofs, shining like very minute pin-heads, and a road like a fibre of white silk-Macugnana, in Italy. I want to fill it with fine and precious things. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 21-09-2024 08:27:10
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