I don't understand anything about the ballet; all I know is that during the intervals the ballerinas stink like horses.
It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents--except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness.
I don’t know what they are called, the spaces between seconds– but I think of you always in those intervals.