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In the open spaces, mostly along the line of the old road, there were little hillside farms; sometimes with all the buildings standing, sometimes with only 6ne or two, and sometimes with only a lone chimney or fast-filling cellar. Weeds and briers reigned, and furtive wild things rustled in the undergrowth. Upon everything was a haze of restlessness and oppression; a touch of the unreal and the grotesque, as if some vital element of perspective or chiaroscuro were awry. I did not wonder that the foreigners would not stay, for this was no region to sleep in. It was too much like a landscape of Salvator Rosa; too much like some forbidden woodcut in a tale of terror. |
Commits for Nextrek/WindowsPhone/NextrekBook/H. P. Lovecraft/BookonPhone/The Colour Out of Space/The Colour Out of Space/Data/Nuovo documento di testo (6).txt
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5 | MOliva | Fri 19 Apr, 2013 17:26:06 +0000 | primo caricamento libri win phone 7 |