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small urns, fine ewers of quartz, of ruby, various types of trays, shining spoonsall are wonder-struck thinking what is this all is happening?
Then... on this side.. what happens! The brass urn filled with cold water internally feeling pain drinking the draught of humiliation, burning, boiling gets more yellowish. Seeing the black colour welcomed at the gate of gold the colour of the golden urn begins to redden more, of which the description in words is not possible; it gets beyond itself. From the mouth-cave of the golden urn erupts a vocabulary full of acrimony taking the form of a volcano in person:
"The day has not ended yet and so much welcome-honour of the new-comer! Applying the dust to head and throwing the crown in feetall this doesn't look like civilized behaviour Feeling of own-ness towards us is
Silent Soil :: 359
