The rain smelled of the Tyrrhenian Sea, which lay only a few paces beyond the manor's white sea-soaked walls. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. I'd go for it.
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This video was uploaded to g-zaporozhe.info on 06-06-2024 11:25:50
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