Distance; fog and distance. Mile upon bleak mile of tundra separated him from his heart’s desire while she, innocent, went shopping in Willesden Green. –But what was this scrap of doggerel whirling in his head, an old snatch of a burlesque or a come-all-ye from Ballymacdrogheda… No, ’twas gone.

Frivol and froth, all of it. Fie!

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December 21, 2012 · 10:58 pm

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