A fortnight passed, then a month. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. Anna made things for her. They had turned into the street, on the opposite side of which were the flats where Anna lived. He would be so disappointed. She had never even brought a friend home in her time at the Becks, let alone been asked on dates. This was not the sort of confession which he had been expecting. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ4LjEwOS4xMDcgLSAxMC0wNi0yMDI0IDEzOjIyOjQxIC0gMTY2NzEyNDY1Mg==
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