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Winifred's face had a thoroughly amiable look. Captain Kneebone! we must trouble you to accompany us. ToC London, at the period of this history, boasted only a single bridge. . Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 01-10-2024 02:20:06