The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Had he but known it, his outburst had done him no harm in the major’s eyes. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me. Anna opened a cupboard and produced cups and saucers and a tin of coffee. It'll be turning over to-morrow.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 21-09-2024 14:42:38
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