Her hair was held back in a filigreed barrette. "We won't have any trouble understanding each
other; same language. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper
folded round his throat. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so
that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. She looked at him confusedly, his black hair glinting
under the dim lights. But she did not speak. “Yes, aren’t they?” said Ann Veronica, after a thoughtful pause. From a scout stationed at the
northern entrance, whom she addressed in the jargon of the place, with which
long usage had formerly rendered her familiar, she ascertained that Blueskin,
accompanied by a youth, whom she knew by the description must be her son,
had arrived there about three hours before, and had proceeded to the Cross
Shovels. The ruse succeeded almost beyond his expectation. "But I
happen to be an honest man myself. Look at the poor victim at your
feet. I
should scarcely have known you. There were moments when Ann Veronica
rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing
off at her. He has a grand time. The stranger started at the
touch, and spoke.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTMzLjEzNS44OCAtIDIyLTA2LTIwMjQgMTM6NTk6NTcgLSA1MTY2Nzg0NTE=
This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 19-06-2024 02:18:58