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Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples, for I am sick of love. Blotted out—Love! With infinite care, through nearly a thousand pages, her father had obliterated the word Love. The barmaids had too strongly appealed to his sense of novelty. All these circumstances,—slight in themselves, but powerful in their effect,—touched the heart of the widowed carpenter, and added to his depression. At times he seemed to be claiming pity from her; at times he was threatening her with her check and exposure; at times he was boasting of his inflexible will, and how, in the end, he always got what he wanted. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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This video was uploaded to tipsonbuyingacar.com on 21-09-2024 15:16:13
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