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She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. He thrust the smaller weapon into a scabbard that hung from his belt. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. It is a serious accusation. You see, I’m separated from my wife. New customs have prevailed over the old. At the present moment she was living in a world of her own creation, a carnival of brave men and fair women, characters out of the tales she had so newly read for the first time.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 22-09-2024 14:08:36