People of your sort—I don’t want the instincts to—to rush our situation. The by now familiar dramatic sigh came. Her natural instincts reasserted themselves. 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. “It might be a policeman borrowing the driveway and looking out for speeders.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 29-06-2024 15:04:09
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