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Reply To: | When I'm in bed I'm a tourist. |
Date: | Mon, 14 Jul 2003 23:55:03 EDT |
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about to leave for the cape with peanut and Ma ma ; th house where we are
staying is a 1689 salt box...with heavy rope bannister to get to our berths;
the floor planks are the better part of 24 plus inches and she creaks in a fair
wind...Pyrate
Ps seems Im not alone read on
".But the most remarkable thing in the house were the singing doors.
As soon as morning came the singing of the doors sounded throughout the
house.
I am unable to say why they sang-whether it was the fault of rusty hinges,or
the workman who made them concealed some secret in them-but the remarkable
thing was each door had its own special voice;
the door of the bedroom sang in the highest treble, the dining room door in
a horse bass, while the one in the front hall produces some strange cracked
at the same time moaning sound ; so that listening attentively one could
faintly hear quite clearly : My, oh , my, how cold I am ! "
Nikolai Gogol Old world Landowners 1835
--
To terminate puerile preservation prattling among pals and the
uncoffee-ed, or to change your settings, go to:
<http://maelstrom.stjohns.edu/archives/bullamanka-pinheads.html>
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