Ваша оценкаI am alone in my room. Alone. This trip, I have wanted it so badly and for so long that I have often doubted it would ever come to pass. But this evening, my desire finally realized, I find that I am here with myself. No bridge connects me to the others. Of those I loved most and best, all I have to remember them by is a flower, a photograph. The flower, a rose, is almost done wilting in the toothbrush glass. Yesterday, at the same time, it was resplendent on my coat, the buttonhole high enough ...
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