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I found it on the beach, just sitting there nestled inside a piece of driftwood. Miss Mary and me, and Martha too sometimes. She sings better perhaps. But that other world, in spite of her resolute exclusion of it, was always looking round corners and peeping through chinks and crannies, and rustling and raiding into the order in which she chose to live, shining out of pictures at her, echoing in lyrics and music; it invaded her dreams, it wrote up broken and enigmatical sentences upon the passage walls of her mind. I didn’t ought to have sent for him.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 05-07-2024 01:34:13
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