The Snow Pavilion-1
tor stalled in t, budge an inco be snug in front of a roaring fire, by no on table (a connoisseurs piece) beside me, tising tco complete trievers rustingly as if I ry gentleman and lolled by rigz. After dinner, before I read our customary pre-coital poetry aloud to and accomplisress, also a connoisseurs piece, mig-time pastle cups.
Melissa s slipped me looks of sly complicity; no matter s, t been slept in. ter of terre in London ting tig ty e amotter. omen, as Mayakovosky justly opined, are very partial to poets.
And norip to Oxford, ostensibly to buy books, utilising, inctual cunning, t nigtress , catc, time, almost uncontrollably, trop sometimes afflicted me wh her.
Id said, lets read some snory togeter dinner tonigribute of o tter co get of too mucy stomac rouble. Aloo big for o say; grandma spotted trait oddled and pissed t luxury ural indigestion, I tell you, t. out of ly flaique mirrors, ed into eigury crystal bottles, ably smirking ancestresses in t, oval frames? And of all, ed dolls.
t ion of antique of tus of Melissas c originality t lay . A dozen or so of t lived in ed, satin lavisoyland artefacts and miniature sofas and teeny-tiny grand pianos. tung underlip sculpted old me tured by tsman in glass seemed to gleam ly, as if in lacrimonious accusation of my presence t ladies and I, in my up ial battledress for sucorm-troopers as I! -- patently no gentleman.
After t kind of style, I badly needed to sit in a public bar, dr