“I have not the least idea who he is. ’. . The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. He rolled on top of her, pinning her with his arms and forming a tented cage. The air might be cool, but half an hour without head-gear was an invitation to sunstroke. He returned the locket without comment. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjE4OS4xOTIuMTkgLSAzMC0wNi0yMDI0IDE5OjU1OjIwIC0gMTUzNDczMTI1
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