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All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. Capes was an exceptionally fair man of two or three-and-thirty, so ruddily blond that it was a mercy he had escaped light eyelashes, and with a minor but by no means contemptible reputation of his own. The Widgett mental furniture was perhaps worn and shabby, but there it was before you, undisguised, fading visibly in an almost pitiless sunlight. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 20:55:46