"...What sort of thing, Irma, my dear? What sort of thing are you referring to? I have done all sorts of things. I have removed a gallstone the size of a potato. I have played delicately on my violin while a rainbow shone through the dispensary window; I have plunged so deeply into the poets of grief that save for my foresight in attaching fish-hooks to my clothes i might never again have been drawn earthwards...."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment