Aunt Jane had her quiet moments. I proved myself early as an athlete, skills I retained long after my return home. The road from Surbiton and Epsom ran under the arch, and, like a bright fungoid growth in the ditch, there was now appearing a sort of fourth estate of little redand-white rough-cast villas, with meretricious gables and very brassy windowblinds. There are pretty much three types, those that accept, and those who run away, and those who fight. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. A girl—at my age—is grown-up. But tell me one thing I don’t understand—tell me one thing: How can you help it by coming down into the battle and the mire? That’s the thing that concerns me.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM1LjE5NC4xOCAtIDEzLTA5LTIwMjQgMDE6MzU6NTAgLSA3NTIyMzg4OTk=
This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 11-09-2024 02:51:20
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8 - Ref9 - Ref10 - Ref11 - Ref12