Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. “I said you were”—he shouted—“NOT TO GO!” She made, and overdid, an immense effort to be a princess. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol. Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. There must be real Valjeans, else how could authors write about them? Supposing some day she met one of these astonishing creators, who could make one cry and laugh and forget, who could thrill one with love and anger and tenderness? Most of us have witnessed carnivals.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 03-07-2024 22:01:55
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