Robert Duval The Next Dance paintingRobert Duval The Last Dance paintingRobert Duval Song for a Gentleman painting
commanding officer, my nearest neighbour, said: “You’re as fit as the youngest of them, Alex.” So I was; so I am now, if I could only breathe.
‘No air; no wind stirring under the velvet canopy. When the summer comes,’ said
Lord Marchmain, oblivious of the deep corn and swelling fruit and the surfeited bees who slowly sought their hives in the heavy afternoon sunlight outside his windows, ‘when the summer comes I shall leave my bed and sit in the open air and breathe more easily.
‘Who would have thought that all these little gold men, gentlemen in their own country, could live so long without breathing? Like to toads in the coal, down a deep mine, untroubled. God take it, why have they dug a hole for me? Must a man stifle to death in his own cellars? Plender, Gaston, open the
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