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When the paroxysm passed, he was forced to lean against the window-jamb for support. It is your own choice, isn’t it?” She nodded. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. She chastised herself for thinking of her husband and lord as being weak. His clothes were smartly pressed, his linen white, his jaws cleanly shaven; but the day would come when he would grow indifferent to bodily cleanliness. I’m glad the old sore is assuaged. ToC That night Jack walked to Paddington, and took up his quarters at a small tavern, called the Wheat-sheaf, near the green. There is the election——” He laughed derisively.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 11:40:21