Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. Jonathan, in all probability, knows nothing of these packets; and their production may serve to intimidate him. He was evidently nervous, and very anxious to be impressive; his projecting eyes sought to dominate.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjExLjMgLSAxMy0wOS0yMDI0IDAyOjA4OjQwIC0gMTg3OTY3MjE0Mg==
This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 10-09-2024 03:13:26
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8 - Ref9