I waited for her at the back. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. It was clear it must be to-morrow. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. To preach a fine sermon every Sunday so that he would lose neither the art nor the impulse; and this child, in secret rebellion, taking it down in long hand during odd hours in the week! Preaching grandiloquently before a few score natives who understood little beyond the gestures, for the single purpose of warding off disintegration! It reminded the doctor of a stubborn retreat; from barricade to barricade, grimly fighting to keep the enemy at bay, that insidious enemy of the white man in the South Seas—inertia.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxOS4xNzguMTY2IC0gMjMtMTAtMjAyNCAwMjoyNTo0OCAtIDQwMjIwNTc3Ng==
This video was uploaded to betosfer.xyz on 19-10-2024 19:27:38
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8 - Ref9 - Ref10