太叔辛巳 985万字 721567人读过 连载
she laughed. "i have still the mask."
there was a silence. the evening darkened in the room. noiselessly, and with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the garden. the colours faded wearily out of things.
"would you have me take the verdict of europe on it?" he inquired.
"you were quite right. there is always something infinitely mean about other peoples tragedies."
"thanks, i wont have anything more," said the painter, taking his cap and coat off and throwing them on the bag that he had placed in the corner. "and now, my dear fellow, i want to speak to you seriously. dont frown like that. you make it so much more difficult for me."
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