"[w]hat was any art but ... a sheath, a mould in which to imprison for a moment the shining, elusive element which is life itself - life hurrying past us and running away, too strong to stop, too sweet to lose." - Willa Cather, Song of the Lark
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Napoleon. In the barn. With Snowball's medal of honor.
The Trotsky murder weapon may have been found. And the woman whose father may have made off with it 65 years ago says,
"I am looking for some financial benefit. I think something as historically important at this should be worth something, no?"
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