She crooked her finger. ’ His colour deepened. “That’s what you’re going to wear. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. ’ ‘Will you indeed? Truly?’ His smile held so much tenderness, she was tempted to surrender at once. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjEyLjE2MSAtIDExLTA2LTIwMjQgMDM6NDA6MTYgLSAxMDc2ODA5MDY2
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