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I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. Gazing at her with eyes blinded with tears, he imprinted one brotherly kiss upon her lips. If you ask me, you’ll have to beat her regularly if you don’t want to live a dog’s life. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. I’ve told them all that was necessary, but I— wanted to ask your pardon—for having made myself a nuisance to you, and for breaking into your rooms—and to thank you—the doctor says you bound up my wound—or I should have bled to death.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 11-09-2024 03:30:02
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