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His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. No breakfast, he’s had no dinner, hardly a mouthful of soup— since yesterday at tea. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. Both of them. Critically, she stared at her own features. ” Anna rose to her feet.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 24-09-2024 16:20:27