But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. He fixed it. He bowed over her hand, venturing to drop a kiss on it’s leathery surface. Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. She walked straight across to the wardrobe and opened it. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. She was nearly too giddy still to answer him.
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This video was uploaded to dogtrainingengineering.online on 10-06-2024 07:45:59
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