Darn it, my keys fell through the gap and into the elevator shaft.
A Signora Rossinuola, with the face of a goddess, and the voice of an angel, made her first curtsy that evening to the Neapolitans. She was received with the most rapturous applause.
To make matters worse to the unseen clogging-up-of-things coming on – just as the days of Dominic's upliftment to feet-up Don status bore on her old Dad was given to standing on the hour and shouting in his most tremble-some voice of new augury, going: …
Yea! for such sights and acts do tear apart / The close and subtle clasping of a chain, / Form’d not of gold, but of corroded brass, / Whose links are furnish’d from the common mine / Of every day’s event, and want, and wish; / From work-times, diet-times, and sleeping-times: / And thence constructed, mean and heavy links / Within the pandemonic walls of sense, / Enchain our deathless part, constrain our strength, / And waste the goodly stature of our soul.
アカウントを持っていませんか？ 新規登録
アカウントを持っていますか？ ログイン
DiQt（ディクト）
無料
★★★★★★★★★★
