We felt like thieves. But now it’s beads by the cask—like the hold of a West African trader. What our dear mother would say back home I dread to think. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. Here they remained till midnight when, calling for their reckoning and their steeds, they left the house. Mr. But, after all, it will be different.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTI5LjQyLjIzMyAtIDE0LTA5LTIwMjQgMTU6MDk6NTkgLSA4OTgxNzkxMDc=
This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 13-09-2024 19:06:48
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8 - Ref9 - Ref10 - Ref11