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Anthony speculated

Le 3 août 2016, 11:09 dans Humeurs 0

One Sunday afternoon just before Christmas he called up and found her in the lull directly after some important but mysterious quarrel: she informed him in a tone of mingled wrath and amusement that she had sent a man out of her apartment--here Anthony speculated violently--and that the man had been giving a little dinner for her that very night and that of course she wasn't going. So Anthony took her to supper.

"Let's go to something!" she proposed as they went down in the elevator. "I want to see a show, don't you?"

Inquiry at the hotel ticket desk disclosed only two Sunday night "concerts."

"They're always the same," she complained unhappily, "same old Yiddish comedians. Oh, let's go somewhere!"

To conceal a guilty suspicion that he should have arranged a performance of some kind for her approval Anthony affected a knowing cheerfulness.

"We'll go to a good cabaret."

"I've seen every one in town."

"Well, we'll find a new one."

She was in wretched humor; that was evident. Her gray eyes were granite now indeed. When she wasn't speaking she stared straight in front of her as if at some distasteful abstraction in the lobby.

"Well, come on, then."

He followed her, a graceful girl even in her enveloping fur, out to a taxicab, and, with an air of having a definite place in mind, instructed the driver to go over to Broadway and then turn south. He made several casual attempts at conversation but as she adopted an impenetrable armor of silence and answered him in sentences as morose as the cold darkness of the taxicab he gave up, and assuming a like mood fell into a dim gloom.

A dozen blocks down Broadway Anthony's eyes were caught by a large and unfamiliar electric sign spelling "Marathon" in glorious yellow script, adorned with electrical leaves and flowers that alternately vanished and beamed upon the wet and glistening street. He leaned and rapped on the taxi-window and in a moment was receiving information from a colored doorman: Yes, this was a cabaret. Fine cabaret. Bes' showina city!

 

The day that you see me old

Le 2 décembre 2015, 03:58 dans Humeurs 0

Dear son……
If I get dirty when eating… if I cannot dress… have patience.Remember the hours I spent teaching it to you tag heuer price. Remember when I had to chase you with thousand excuses I invented, in order that you wanted to bath…When you see my on new technologies… give me the necessary time and not look at me with your mocking smile…

When at some moment I lose the memory or the thread of our conversation… let me have the necessary time to remember… and if I cannot do it;do not become nervous… as the most important thing is not my conversation but surely to be with you and to have you listening to me…

When my tired legs do not allow me walk… give me your hand… the same way I did when you gave your first steps registering a company in hong kong.

You must not feel sad, angry or impotent for seeing me near you. You must be next to me, try to understand me and to help me as I did it when you started living. Help me to walk… help me to end my way with love and patience. I will
pay you by a smile and by the immense love I have had always for you.

I love you son Karson Choi.