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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=535763" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Conversation In The Drawing Room</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">—That spot of blood on the drawing room wall, <br>No larger than a thumbnail when I looked a moment ago, <br>Is spreading, Cousin Agatha, and growing brighter. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Nonsense. The oriole warbles in the sunlight. <br>The fountains gush luxuriantly above the pool. <br>The weather is ideal: on the paths a sheen <br>Of summer provides a constant delight. <br>I am thinking of affiliating with a new theosophist group. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>—Once you could hide it with a nickel. <br>Now it strangely assumes the shape and size of a palm, <br>And puts out fingers, Cousin Agatha. Look, examine it! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Some aberration of the wallpaper, no doubt. <br>Did you have an omelette for lunch, and asparagus? <br>Mrs. Pisgah’s husband spoke from the beyond during the séance <br>Last night at Madame Irani’s. He seemed to have a cold. <br>The tamborine did not function with its usual zest. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>—And a wrist, Cousin Agatha, and an arm! <br>Like those maps in a cinema that spread <br>Like wind blowing over a field of wheat, Cousin Agatha! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I have warned you, Hobart, about reading The Turn of the Screw <br>And that story of Balzac’s, whatever the name of it is, <br>Just before retiring. They always have a decidedly bad effect upon you. <br>I believe I will put another aspirin in the lily’s vase. <br>And now I must go to take my nap in the sunroom. </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>—Cousin Agatha, it moves like a fish, wet, <br>Wet like a fish, becomes a moving thing <br>That spreads and reaches from the wall! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>I cannot listen to you any more just now, Hobart. <br>Kindly speak to Marie about the place cards for this evening. <br>Ah, there is the oriole again; how beautiful the view <br>From this window!—Yet why, one wonders, must Hobart begin <br>Gasping and screaming in such a deplorable fashion <br>There in the drawing room? It is scarcely considerate. <br>Youthful animal spirits, one supposes, combined <br>With a decided taste for the macabre. Where is the barbital? <br>Marie can never learn to leave it here, by the incense burner. <br>Ah, now he has stopped and only thrashes about, rather feebly, on the floor. <br>It is a beautiful afternoon; I will get up about three-fifteen. <br>Everything is blissfully quiet now; I am ready for sleep.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Weldon+Kees">Weldon Kees</a><div class=q>
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No larger than a thumbnail when I looked a moment ago, 
Is spreading, Cousin Agatha, and growing brighter. 


Nonsense. The oriole warbles in the sunlight. 
The fountains gush luxuriantly above the ..."></div>
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