“Mike, what’s going on?” She sat up, groggily rubbing
her eyes. Something about this woman rather reminds me of our
hostess. Her name, he said, was as pretty as
its wearer. Ovarian cancer. Anna had told me that
he carried always with him this bogus marriage certificate. You mustn't go dressing up Tom, Dick, and Harry in
Henry Esmond's ruffles. Tickle the ears of their reverences with any idle nonsense you
please: but tell them nothing you care to have repeated. I presume
that you have been living alone?”
She sighed gently. He understood. “You are afraid,” she said, “that the young man who thinks that he is my
husband has upset me. And that would spoil it. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the
library. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Just fine.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 05-07-2024 00:21:47