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Even the abstract paintings on the wall were gray. She was making it up. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. “She’s sensitive soul, far too sensitive to be married to an ass like Gianfrancesco. " "I don't mind the throuble," hesitated Terence, who was really a good-hearted fellow at the bottom; "and I'd like to sarve you if I could, for you look like a gentleman's son, and that goes a great way wi' me.
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This video was uploaded to indienet.info on 27-06-2024 22:17:05
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