Lucia watched in fascination as Isobella nodded at her, only three years older than she, nursing her son with a contented smile upon her face. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. One who steals. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 17:52:29