Huw:
This nose can smell the primrose in the spring or mutton chops cooking or the well-brushed hair of children in the park. It is filled with the savors of innocence... and memory. The motion of the waterfall and the little girl under the haystack and cowslips in the railway cuttings. I can smell out the corruption in a den of hypocrites, scoundrels, and dead souls.
[Stroking his harp]
Huw:
Anyhow, it is mostly indigestion to what you're talking about.
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 07:36
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