My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 21-07-2024 14:15:47
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