434 The Story of the Hogarth Press Part 1 - Virginia Woolf's First Self-Published Story
The History of Literature
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The First Stirring of the Blood
It was spring there, english spring, with its fresh, warm breath and its pale blue sky above the trees. A man came up the garden, looking quickly from side to side for an empty place. He had a high forehead, black hair and well shaped, fat hands. Fine day, he said, wonderfully fine day. The finest day i ever remember. Nothing to beat a fine english spring day. I saw the delicate apple blossom in the pale blue sky behind his large, dark head. And when he spoke, he asked, do you go to synagogue? No, except on yam copur every year, i don't believe in it. Of course we're all scept
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