Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. Instead, he was bowing to her greataunt. ’ ‘What are you about now, child?’ demanded Martha apprehensively. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate. He hated travelling second-class with her—indeed, he never did—but he also disliked travelling in the same train when his daughter was in an inferior class, because of the look of the thing. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. He whispered in her ear. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 19-09-2024 02:53:28
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