Do help me, Lady Ferringhall. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. Her confession was still unmade. But also this must not go on.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 25-06-2024 08:59:54
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