4.9 • 686 Ratings
🗓️ 23 January 2020
⏱️ 52 minutes
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0:00.0 | The Yellow Signed to get in the |
0:07.0 | The Yellow Sign By Robert W. Chambers. |
0:28.5 | Let the red dawn surmise what we shall do when this blue starlight dies and all is through. |
0:39.4 | There are so many things which are impossible to explain. |
0:43.3 | Why should certain chords and music make me think of the brown and golden tints of autumn foliage? |
0:49.8 | Why should the mass of Saint Cecile send my thoughts wandering among caverns whose walls blaze with |
0:55.4 | ragged masses of virgin silver. What was it in the roar and turmoil of Broadway at six o'clock |
1:02.5 | that flashed before my eyes the picture of a still breton forest where sunlight filtered through |
1:08.4 | spring foliage, and Sylvia bent half curiously, half tenderly, |
1:14.6 | over a small green lizard murmuring to think this is also a little ward of God. |
1:22.2 | When I first saw the watchman, his back was toward me. I looked at him indifferently until he went into the church. I paid no more attention to him than I had to any other man who lounged through Washington Square that morning. And when I shut my window and turned back into my studio, I had forgotten him. |
1:41.3 | Late in the afternoon, the day being warm, I raised the window again and leaned out to get a sniff of air. |
1:49.0 | The man was standing in the courtyard of the church, and I noticed him again with as little interest as I had that morning. |
1:56.2 | I looked across the square to where the fountain was playing, and then with my mind filled with vague |
2:01.4 | impressions of trees, asphalt drives, and the moving groups of nursemaids and holidaymakers, |
2:07.4 | I started to walk back to my easel. As I turned, my listless glance included the man below in the |
2:13.7 | churchyard. His face was toward me now, and with a perfectly involuntary movement, |
2:19.6 | I bent to see it. At the same time, he raised his head and looked at me. Instantly, I thought |
2:26.6 | of a coffin worm. Whatever it was about the man that repelled me, I do not know, but the impression |
2:33.3 | of a plump, white white graveworm was so intense |
2:36.1 | and nauseating that I must have shown it in my expression, for he turned his puffy face away with a |
2:42.0 | movement which made me think of a disturbed grub in the chestnut. I went back to my easel and |
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