I know in Paris you pinched and scraped that your sister might have the dresses and entertainments she desired. I’m sorry. ‘When I thought to make them sympathique for me, with a little tear, you understand, and some tricks feminine of this kind—’ ‘Feminine tricks, too?’ cut in Gerald admiringly, controlling a quivering lip. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. Lord bless you marm! we sees plenty on 'em in our purfession.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjQ0LjE5OSAtIDIzLTA2LTIwMjQgMDU6NDI6NTkgLSAxMzIwNDk0NzE3
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