‘I wish you joy of the wench. Who but you would have dreamed of giving the boy such a name? Why, it's the name of a river, not a Christian. . . She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. Ann Veronica had no answer for a moment.
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This video was uploaded to gohardasht1.com on 27-06-2024 02:09:00
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