The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky. Stephen Crane

The great Pullman was whirling onward with such dignity of motion that a glance from the window seemed simply to prove that the plains of Texas were pouring eastward. Vast flats of green grass, dull-hued spaces of mesquite and cactus, little groups of frame houses, woods of light and tender trees, all were sweeping into the east, sweeping over the horizon, a precipice. 🍓 Запрещённое в соцсетях искусство — t.me/kartiny/6166     A newly married pair had boarded this coach at San Antonio. The man's face was reddened…