To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a
web browser that
supports HTML5 video
You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I
think. “Mr. He was only a younger son, and you know what trouble
we had. They agreed
to lend her their hold-all and a large, formless bag which they called the
communal trunk. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was
nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. One day she awoke and he was cavorting about
underneath the covers. “No,” she answered. ‘To find what?’ demanded Gerald. “What do you think you are doing?” He asked. As the secret door opened, the sounds within the house came at once to her
ears: the tramping of feet above, and the hoarse voices echoing through the
mansion. I
have made up my mind to insist upon moving from here into Park Lane, or one
of the Squares. "
"Then we won't even show you that mercy," retorted the thief-taker brutally. Places, I found, were daily given away,
And yet no friendly gazette mentioned Gay. 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.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTUuMTQxLjI1MCAtIDEyLTA3LTIwMjQgMjE6MDA6MDQgLSA3MTQ1ODYzMjA=
This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 10-07-2024 23:01:06