A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. ‘Of course I see that,’ she said impatiently. As he anticipated, he was here comparatively screened from the fury of the wind; and when he gazed upon the roaring fall beneath him, visible through the darkness in a glistening sheet of foam, his heart overflowed with gratitude for his providential deliverance. “I do not suppose he will be home till late. It was the girl. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. He would know her address to-morrow. How do you like the story?” “Go on,” said Ann Veronica, a little hoarsely, “tell me all of it.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 01:00:35