To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a
web browser that
supports HTML5 video
Widgett was a journalist and art critic, addicted to a
greenish-gray tweed suit and “art” brown ties; he smoked corncob pipes in the
Avenue on Sunday morning, travelled third class to London by unusual trains,
and openly despised golf. Here was a poor half-naked
creature, with a straw crown on his head, and a wooden sceptre in his hand,
seated on the ground with all the dignity of a monarch on his throne. Think! You could not have done it. She pushed between the pews, hoping to reach the sword first, while
desperately holding on to her petticoats to keep them up, as her sword arm
wavered. But she was only able to save a corner of
the letter.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTYuNjYuMTU0IC0gMDUtMDctMjAyNCAwOTowOTo0MyAtIDExNjMxNjk1OA==
This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 03-07-2024 13:35:26