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Her thought spoke aloud. Aware of the footman hovering, and the hackney coachman’s curious eyes looking down from his box, Gerald leaned a little towards her and spoke in a lowered tone. I—well, I lost my temper. She was tired, hungry—and thus somewhat impatient for the food Mrs Ibstock might bring—and downcast. Her name, he said, was as pretty as its wearer.

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This video was uploaded to meteo15jours.net on 24-06-2024 04:39:29

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