Until now none of her prayers had ever been answered. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. There haven't been so many ladies in the Lodge since the days of Claude Du Val, the gentleman highwayman; and they all declare it'll break their hearts if he's scragged. Her disapproval was obvious enough. "My lips would belie my heart were I to refuse you. ” “I hope that you may,” Anna answered enigmatically. Never mind.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 09-09-2024 22:01:43
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