I am already far north of London; and as I walk in the streets of Peterburgh, I feel a cold northern breeze play upon my cheeks, which braces my nerves and fills me with delight...I try in vain to be persuaded that the pole is the seat of frost and desolation; it ever presents itself to my imagination as the region of beauty and delight.
18" x 24" Acrylic on Stretched Canvas
Note: The story starts on page 63 in the edition I am using.
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Be nice!