I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. She had turned round sideways, so as to look down into the fire. Holding down the light, he perceived that the wounded man had risen to the surface, and was trying to clamber up the slippery sides of the well.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 22-09-2024 10:52:08
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