The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. A young man —almost a boy, slight, dark, and with his brother’s deep grey eyes—came across the room to her. She went from period to period exactly as she would have read prose; so that sense and music were equally balanced. She threw out a hand to stop herself from cannoning into them and, losing balance, tripped over her own petticoats and fell to the carpeted floor, her hat falling off as she did so. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. Here it is.
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This video was uploaded to ssibasmatirice.com on 17-05-2024 13:41:08
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