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The halls emptied with special urgency as teens rushed
forth into heated cars and buses to make the mad dash
home before the coming storm. "You hay'n't
hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. He had spoken impressively, and most likely Anna, had she reappeared, would
have met with a fair reception. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed
open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a
saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the
fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished,
and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Sir James Thornhill, then, rose.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 28-06-2024 14:04:15