Citation de Jnc75
The house of though was closed. Its windows boarded up and he was its shadow caretaker. He was a shadows ans this was the unending limbo of toil. Or was it a dream?
Sometimes, in the steaming, sizzling heat, as he swung the heavy irons back and forth over the white garments, it came to him that it was a dream.
In a short while, or maybe after a thousand years or so, he would awake, in his little room with inkstained table, and take up his writing where he had left of the day before. Or maybe that was a dream, (....)
Sometimes, in the steaming, sizzling heat, as he swung the heavy irons back and forth over the white garments, it came to him that it was a dream.
In a short while, or maybe after a thousand years or so, he would awake, in his little room with inkstained table, and take up his writing where he had left of the day before. Or maybe that was a dream, (....)
