Earles, but it is a good one. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. The agonized mother could scarcely repress a scream at the spectacle that met her gaze. In fact, the whole face had undergone a transformation. ‘Could she have been a spy, after all?’ ‘Oh, she’s not a spy,’ Gerald answered, almost absently. Listen to me, Thames. Her tears dissipated as she began to convulse, completely devoid of any spare fluid. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled. But she does not resemble you in any other way.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxNi4yMDEuMzIgLSAxNi0wNi0yMDI0IDE1OjAxOjIzIC0gMTc4MzEzMjU3Mg==
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