“That’s suicidal bullshit, Lucy. “How did you find me?” She asked. It wasn’t long ago that a girl went straight from the farm to her husband, just as soon as her period came and she could make babies. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Was there anything at all in those locked rooms of her aunt’s mind? Were they fully furnished and only a little dusty and cobwebby and in need of an airing, or were they stark vacancy except, perhaps, for a cockroach or so or the gnawing of a rat? What was the mental equivalent of a rat’s gnawing? The image was going astray. “Hello? She’s like, your girlfriend, not mine. All that I regret are the wasted years, and I am not sure that I regret them.
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This video was uploaded to motorsport-fotografie.info on 19-05-2024 05:16:22
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