文学楼 【最新▇╰入口】

all, his half-ironic devotion. Many of Nostromo’s speeches I have heard first in Dominic’s voice. His hand on the tiller and his fearless eyes roaming the horizon from within the monkish h文学楼 ood shadowing文学楼 his face, he would utter the usual文学楼 exordium of his remorseless wisdom: “Vous autres gentilhommes!” in a caustic tone that hangs on my ear yet. Like Nostromo! “You hombres finos!” Very much like Nostromo. But Dominic , have been something in me worthy to command that man’s half-bitter fidelity,