’ Kimble’s eyes widened. Then the bridge had arched gateways, bristling with spikes, and garnished (as all ancient gateways ought to be) with the heads of traitors. He returned, blue towel in hand. ‘They’ve gone, miss,’ came the answer, muffled through the panel door. You will survive, mark my words. But it’s love you should’ve had when you were tiny and I didn’t give it to you. They talked for the better part of an hour, and at last walked together to the junction of highroad and the bridle-path.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ5LjI0OS4xNTQgLSAxOC0wNS0yMDI0IDEzOjM0OjUyIC0gNjU1NDgwNTA3
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