“It is the goose!” Orlando cried. “The wild goose. …”
And the twelfth stroke of midnight sounded; the twelfth stroke of midnight, Thursday, the eleventh of October, Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-eight.
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A young Elizabethan poet for whom success is elusive becomes a woman and embraces the spirit of the age.
“It is the goose!” Orlando cried. “The wild goose. …”
And the twelfth stroke of midnight sounded; the twelfth stroke of midnight, Thursday, the eleventh of October, Nineteen Hundred and Twenty-eight.