The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. McClintock did not exaggerate his ability to read faces. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMjIuNzkuODIgLSAwMS0wNi0yMDI0IDIxOjA0OjE1IC0gNzYyMjM4NzU0
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