To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video
But at least it gave her more time. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Very soon she would be able to forget it. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Think if your own mother was alive!” He paused, deeply moved. She was silent. I should think, Anna, that your own sense—er—of propriety would enable you to see this. The morning of Monday the 16th of November 1724 at length dawned. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. But for now, I’d like to turn in, if you don’t mind. She thought of her father in the garden, and of her aunt with her Patience, as she had seen them—how many ages was it ago? Just one day intervened. Plain, wide-mouthed, freckled, and ugly, she was an instantly jealous creature, her saving grace that she took no pains to mask her extreme dislike 47 of petite, pretty girls.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOC4xNi44MSAtIDIxLTA5LTIwMjQgMjA6MzA6MzcgLSAxNjQ3OTg4ODM4
This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 18-09-2024 00:04:11
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8 - Ref9 - Ref10 - Ref11