But I don't understand her; she's over my head. ” He rowed a stroke and watched the swirl of water from his oar broaden and die away. The trees were graceful and brown, arching and fanning their golden leaves as if to shower with coins the pink-gold sky. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 09-07-2024 13:21:10
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