He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. Jack, whose clothes were covered with dust, and whose face was deathly pale from his recent exertion, looked more like a phantom than a living person. Their conversation hung. You’re going to live under the cat’s foot.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 08-09-2024 09:43:33
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