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“You heard no pistol-shot?” “None. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. To my loving husband Rodney, who is truly a dream come true. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. It’s a mismatch. Without preamble, in a voice of extreme exasperation, he demanded, ‘Now what the devil’s to do? What in God’s name do you mean by sending Gerald such a ridiculous letter? Never read anything half as crazy.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 26-06-2024 15:24:54
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