Friday, October 12, 2007

oil painting artist

the moonlit balcony, glided within my waistcoat, and ate its way in
two minutes to my heart's core. Strange!' he exclaimed, suddenly
starting again from the point. 'Strange that I should choose you for
the confidant of all this, young lady; passing strange that you should
listen to me quietly, as if it were the most usual thing in the
world for a man like me to tell stories of his opera-mistresses to a
quaint, inexperienced girl like you! But the last singularity explains
the first, as I intimated once before: you, with your gravity,
considerateness, and caution were made to be the recipient of secrets.
Besides, I know what sort of a mind I have placed in communication
with my own: I know it is one not liable to take infection: it is a
peculiar mind: it is a unique one. Happily I do not mean to harm it:
but, if I did, it would not take harm from me. The more you and I
converse, the better; for while I cannot blight you, you may refresh
me.' After this digression he proceeded-
'I remained in the balcony. "They will come to her boudoir, no
doubt," thought I: "Let me prepare an ambush." So putting my hand in

3 comments:

Anonymous said...

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Anonymous said...

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Anonymous said...

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