To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video
On the right, stood a bulky figure, with a broken rattle hanging out of his great-coat pocket, who held up a lantern to his battered countenance to prove to the spectators that both his orbs of vision were darkened: on the left, a meagre constable had divested himself of his shirt, to bind up with greater convenience a gaping cut in the arm. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. It’s a thing I’ve unaccountably overlooked. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM3LjIxNy4xNyAtIDMwLTA5LTIwMjQgMTI6MzQ6MzcgLSAxMTU2MTUyMzM4
This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-09-2024 05:54:28