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The Shadow of a Sin
17,45 € 
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She is coming-my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat Had it lain for a century dead. A rich musical voice trolled out the words, not once, but many times over-carelessly at first, and then the full sense of them seemed to strike the singer. 'Had it lain for a century dead, ' he repeated slowly. "Ah, me! the difference between poetry and fact-when I have lain for a century dead, the light footfalls of a fair woman will not awaken me. 'Beyond the sun, wom…
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- Author: Bertha M Clay
- Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
- ISBN-10: 1979005508
- ISBN-13: 9781979005500
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 1 cm, softcover
- Language: English
- SAVE -10% with code: EXTRA
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She is coming-my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat Had it lain for a century dead. A rich musical voice trolled out the words, not once, but many times over-carelessly at first, and then the full sense of them seemed to strike the singer. 'Had it lain for a century dead, ' he repeated slowly. "Ah, me! the difference between poetry and fact-when I have lain for a century dead, the light footfalls of a fair woman will not awaken me. 'Beyond the sun, woman's beauty and woman's love are of small account;' yet here-ah, when will she come?" The singer, who was growing impatient, was an exceedingly handsome young man-of not more than twenty-with a face that challenged all criticism-bright, careless, defiant, full of humor, yet with a gleam of poetry-a face that girls and women judge instantly, and always like. He did not look capable of wrong, this young lover, who sung his love-song so cheerily, neither did he look capable of wicked thoughts.
The promotion ends in 
- Author: Bertha M Clay
- Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
- ISBN-10: 1979005508
- ISBN-13: 9781979005500
- Format: 15.2 x 22.9 x 1 cm, softcover
- Language: English English
She is coming-my own, my sweet; Were it ever so airy a tread, My heart would hear her and beat Had it lain for a century dead. A rich musical voice trolled out the words, not once, but many times over-carelessly at first, and then the full sense of them seemed to strike the singer. 'Had it lain for a century dead, ' he repeated slowly. "Ah, me! the difference between poetry and fact-when I have lain for a century dead, the light footfalls of a fair woman will not awaken me. 'Beyond the sun, woman's beauty and woman's love are of small account;' yet here-ah, when will she come?" The singer, who was growing impatient, was an exceedingly handsome young man-of not more than twenty-with a face that challenged all criticism-bright, careless, defiant, full of humor, yet with a gleam of poetry-a face that girls and women judge instantly, and always like. He did not look capable of wrong, this young lover, who sung his love-song so cheerily, neither did he look capable of wicked thoughts.
Reviews