But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. And this damning evidence―’ with a brusque gesture at the portrait ‘―must also be destroyed. Ann Veronica had had some training at the Tredgold College in disentangling threads from confused statements, and she had a curious persuasion that in all this fluent muddle there was something—something real, something that signified. Her thought spoke aloud. In one of the cabins a man sat on the edge of his narrow bunk. Only identity, and a chance to be someone other than a nun. ‘I told her you couldn’t have been flirting, but she wouldn’t believe me. The imbecile.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOC4xMjYuMjM2IC0gMTQtMDktMjAyNCAxODowOToyMyAtIDE5MzY2MTk5NA==
This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 11-09-2024 11:29:40
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8 - Ref9 - Ref10