Tea over; barn candle lit; air full of foolish, ill-flavoured talk. I sometimes grow quite desperate with the fear that either it will not end, or that, when it does, I shall have become deprived of the power of rational conversation.
Tea over; barn candle lit; air full of foolish, ill-flavoured talk. I sometimes grow quite desperate with the fear that either it will not end, or that, when it does, I shall have become deprived of the power of rational conversation.
Walk March 