She ignored his question. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. I’d come back from the ends of the earth. “He does not come here,” she exclaimed, quickly. ” Her hands fell to her side. They had scrubbed and dusted, torn down and hung up until noon. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. “Don’t you know, child, that this is torture for me? What in God’s name more can you have to tell me?” Her face had become almost like a marble image.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjE1Mi4yNDIgLSAxMC0wNS0yMDI0IDIxOjUyOjAzIC0gMTAwMjgxNzMzOQ==
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