She deserves what has befallen her. Maybe half a year, counting this summer. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. You have never known what it is to want food, raiment, shelter.
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This video was uploaded to borgodeltaglio.com on 22-07-2024 05:01:47
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