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日韩成人电影中文字幕_日韩成人伦理电影_日韩成人三级电影在线

时间: 2019年12月13日 23:05

� � � 鈥淵ou were amazing,鈥?Scott said. I was not utterly wicked, Martin. I did not sin deliberately鈥擨 did not know what I was doing when I wrecked my life and destroyed my peace of mind for ever. I never meant to forget you鈥攐r to be false to you鈥攂ut I was so lonely鈥攕o lonely. The days were so dreary and so long鈥攅ven the short autumn days seemed long鈥攁nd the evenings were so melancholy without you. And he came into my life suddenly鈥攍ike a prince in a fairy tale鈥攁nd at first I thought very little about him. He was nothing more to me than any one else in Trelasco鈥攁nd then somehow we were always meeting by accident鈥攊n the lanes鈥攐r by the sea鈥攁nd he seemed to care for all the things I cared for. The books I loved were his favourites. For a long time we talked of nothing but his travels, and of my favourite books. There was not a word spoken between us that you or any one else could blame. It might seem strange that Isola should turn from the story of the Evangelists to the works of a poet whose human sympathies were so wrung by the evil that has been wrought in the name of the Cross that he was blind to the infinitely greater good which Christianity has accomplished for mankind. Shelley saw the blood of the martyrs, not as a sublime testimony to the Godlike power of faith, not as a sacrifice rich in after-fruits, sad seed of a joyous harvest鈥攂ut as the brutal outcome of man's cruelty, using any name, Christ, or[Pg 255] Buddha, Mahomet, or Brahma鈥攁s the badge of tyranny, the sanction to torture and to slay. 日韩成人电影中文字幕_日韩成人伦理电影_日韩成人三级电影在线 � � � Mrs Keeling had had a good nap before dinner, and her geniality had quite returned. She had also seen that Mrs Bellaway was right, and that there was plenty of mayonnaise. He had grown to detest the time after dinner passed in the plushy, painted drawing-room. Hitherto, in all these years of increasing prosperity, during which the conscious effort of his brain had been directed to business and money-making, he had not objected after the work of the day to pass a quiescent hour or two before his early bedtime giving half an ear to his wife鈥檚 babble, which, with her brain thickened with refreshment, always reached its flood-tide of voluble incoherence now, giving half an eye to Alice with her industrious{291} needle. All the time a vague simmer of mercantile meditation gently occupied him; his mind, like some kitchen fire with the damper pushed in, kept itself just alight, smouldered and burned low, and Alice鈥檚 needle was but like the bars of the grate, and his wife鈥檚 prattle the mild rumble of water in the boiler. It was all domestic and normal, in accordance with the general destiny of prosperous men in middle age. Indeed, he was luckier in some respects than the average, for there had always been for him his secret garden, the hortus inclusus, into which neither his family nor his business interests ever entered. Now even that had been invaded, Norah鈥檚 catalogue had become to him the most precious of his books: she was like sunshine in his secret garden or like a bitter wind, something, anyhow, that got between him and his garden beds, while here in the drawing-room in the domestic hour after dinner the fact of her made itself even more insistently felt, for she turned Lady Keeling鈥檚 vapidities, to which hitherto he had been impervious, into an active stinging irritation, and even poor Alice鈥檚 industrious needle and the ever-growing pattern of Maltese crosses on Mr Silverdale鈥檚 slippers was like some monotonous recurring drip of water that set his nerves on edge. This was a pretty state of mind, he told himself, for a hardheaded business man of fifty, and yet even as with all the force of resolution that was in him he tried to find something{292} in his wife鈥檚 remarks that could awake a relevant reasonable reply, some rebellious consciousness in his brain would only concern itself with counting on the pink clock the hours that lay between the present moment and nine o鈥檆lock next morning. And then the pink clock melodiously announced on the Westminster chime that it was half past ten, and Alice put her needle into the middle of the last Maltese cross, and Lady Keeling waddled across the room and tapped the barometer, which a marble Diana held in her chaste hand, to see if the weather promised well for the bazaar to-morrow. The evening was over, and there would not be another for the next twenty-four hours.