The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. “I did not,” Anna answered. But that possibility had been anticipated. She began at once a hasty readjustment of her hair, while Ramage parleyed with inaudible interrogations. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 09:14:46