Softly, softly, the milk flowed from the taut tapering teats into its own white upward-heaving froth. It flowed from the two front teats, two white columns shooting, crossing and descending with a soft swirling movement through the billowing froth. There is no soft cadence as soothing as its sound, no scent as pure as its warm smell, cow smell, milk smell, blood smell, mingling with the thousand soft smells of a summer evening.


Black Hair Gentle Pressure Great Thing Sunday Evening Collect Story 
These keywords were added by machine and not by the authors. This process is experimental and the keywords may be updated as the learning algorithm improves.


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Copyright information

© Liam O’Flaherty 1999

Authors and Affiliations

  • A. A. Kelly

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