He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. He has often told me that if he could play sober, he would go to America and reap a fortune. If it wasn’t for the fear that after all—but we won’t think of that. It doesn’t matter. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. What you said wanted saying.
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This video was uploaded to siguava.com on 07-06-2024 14:16:08
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