Teklia/IAM-line · Datasets at Hugging Face

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	troubles , had written to the local
	group then sat down for a late lunch
	throttled to death by his wife , children and
	informing them that he was on the point
	paper and the superintendent of police ,
	which again left his household goods
	that the walls were porous and the
	a few minutes later from a nearby village ,
	actually reported in the next issue ) returned
	apologising for the trouble , but explaining
	surrounded by firemen and other officials ,
	gas had escaped . General relief was
	but there was no Monsieur V. He telephoned
	Monsieur V's house was immediately
	expressed , but Monsieur V ( this was
	home and shot himself , leaving a note
	an elderly farm labourer out for a shoot
	same afternoon .
	ended well , reported the paper , since the
	labourer was able to return to work the
	Some grim comic relief was provided by
	labourer in the face . All , however ,
	was after this very bird and shot the farm-
	pellets were easily removed and the
	a blackbird . Unfortunately a sporting taxi-driver
	who hid himself in a bush and imitated
	the hoe . Rising from the flecked sea are
	valley with a sea of vines and olives
	and beaches of earth pricked to blood by
	towns , grey , rose-headed mariners clinging
	islands tapering to shipwrecked castles and
	You can free-wheel down a quarter of the
	like limpets to the rock .
	We travelled down to Nice on the Lambretta .
	way . In the middle of the journey is a
	a muffled bell taps the sky . Here we
	heat and cold like the hands of
	early smells , the dark bosoms of
	friends or strangers , and a flurry of
	beech and the thin pine fingers
	kissed by the sun .
	Cagnes , but between are pockets of
	stopped . Down below is the village of
	stopped , as in fine weather we always
	There is a curd of morning smoke and
	to the old sleeping port . This , and
	prostitutes , edging past grubby grandeur
	sea , blue as a new school exercise
	vulgar , out of time , bitter-sweet with
	book . The same old Nice , creamy ,
	my tongue like spray .
	the ghosts of dead monarchs and brilliant
	Then here was Nice , and the old holiday
	could catch the taste of dead dreams on
	Paris , were my ruined pavilions , and I
	disaster .
	in our eyes . The sea boiled with waves ,
	over the Promenade des Anglais . A huge
	have a swim . Amazing bedlam rocked
	crowd had collected . There were firemen
	Negresco , and went to the beach to
	they galloped to the walls and spumed
	We parked the Lambretta opposite the
	eyes of the spectators were hard with
	and policemen and ambulances , and the
	Mediterranean people to whom nothing
	love house , the mad grandmother or the
	They all had that neat look of
	could ever happen , the chosen sane , the
	the bell would ring for them - the gilded
	bloody child at the crossroads .
	the municipality . Yet , at any time now ,
	uncuckolded , unrobbed , sheltered from
	disease and accident by doctors , God and
	The cool evening perfumes stood
	crowd and drove back to Vence .
	It was growing cold . We left the
	I had to explain the low , sharp and
	sweet signals in the air . When we
	organs were impaired years ago ) , and
	Mart is unable to smell ( her sense
	London sickness ( a sense of guilt ,
	got back home we felt exhausted .
	mingled with the memory of sandwiches
	beckoning at the corners of the roads .
	opposite Pierre's , I read about the Nice
	a woman's . It belonged to a Madame
	sun . The next morning , in the square
	neighbourhood , and it transpired that
	Mart had been right , the body had been
	arrangement with the dead lady's sister
	N. Enquiries had been made in the
	We went straight to bed and slept until
	the turtle-doves drummed up the
	Madame N's husband had made an
	beach catastrophe in the Patriote .
	reported her to the police , and then jumped
	The sister , able to swim , had returned
	off a cliff near Monte Carlo .
	to her brother-in-law ( with whom

troubles , had written to the local

group then sat down for a late lunch

throttled to death by his wife , children and

informing them that he was on the point

paper and the superintendent of police ,

which again left his household goods

that the walls were porous and the

a few minutes later from a nearby village ,

actually reported in the next issue ) returned

apologising for the trouble , but explaining

surrounded by firemen and other officials ,

gas had escaped . General relief was

but there was no Monsieur V. He telephoned

Monsieur V's house was immediately

expressed , but Monsieur V ( this was

home and shot himself , leaving a note

an elderly farm labourer out for a shoot

same afternoon .

ended well , reported the paper , since the

labourer was able to return to work the

Some grim comic relief was provided by

labourer in the face . All , however ,

was after this very bird and shot the farm-

pellets were easily removed and the

a blackbird . Unfortunately a sporting taxi-driver

who hid himself in a bush and imitated

the hoe . Rising from the flecked sea are

valley with a sea of vines and olives

and beaches of earth pricked to blood by

towns , grey , rose-headed mariners clinging

islands tapering to shipwrecked castles and

You can free-wheel down a quarter of the

like limpets to the rock .

We travelled down to Nice on the Lambretta .

way . In the middle of the journey is a

a muffled bell taps the sky . Here we

heat and cold like the hands of

early smells , the dark bosoms of

friends or strangers , and a flurry of

beech and the thin pine fingers

kissed by the sun .

Cagnes , but between are pockets of

stopped . Down below is the village of

stopped , as in fine weather we always

There is a curd of morning smoke and

to the old sleeping port . This , and

prostitutes , edging past grubby grandeur

sea , blue as a new school exercise

vulgar , out of time , bitter-sweet with

book . The same old Nice , creamy ,

my tongue like spray .

the ghosts of dead monarchs and brilliant

Then here was Nice , and the old holiday

could catch the taste of dead dreams on

Paris , were my ruined pavilions , and I

disaster .

in our eyes . The sea boiled with waves ,

over the Promenade des Anglais . A huge

have a swim . Amazing bedlam rocked

crowd had collected . There were firemen

Negresco , and went to the beach to

they galloped to the walls and spumed

We parked the Lambretta opposite the

eyes of the spectators were hard with

and policemen and ambulances , and the

Mediterranean people to whom nothing

love house , the mad grandmother or the

They all had that neat look of

could ever happen , the chosen sane , the

the bell would ring for them - the gilded

bloody child at the crossroads .

the municipality . Yet , at any time now ,

uncuckolded , unrobbed , sheltered from

disease and accident by doctors , God and

The cool evening perfumes stood

crowd and drove back to Vence .

It was growing cold . We left the

I had to explain the low , sharp and

sweet signals in the air . When we

organs were impaired years ago ) , and

Mart is unable to smell ( her sense

London sickness ( a sense of guilt ,

got back home we felt exhausted .

mingled with the memory of sandwiches

beckoning at the corners of the roads .

opposite Pierre's , I read about the Nice

a woman's . It belonged to a Madame

sun . The next morning , in the square

neighbourhood , and it transpired that

Mart had been right , the body had been

arrangement with the dead lady's sister

N. Enquiries had been made in the

We went straight to bed and slept until

the turtle-doves drummed up the

Madame N's husband had made an

beach catastrophe in the Patriote .

reported her to the police , and then jumped

The sister , able to swim , had returned

off a cliff near Monte Carlo .

to her brother-in-law ( with whom