She had all the fascination of being absolutely perplexing in this respect. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. In fact, one of them was downright sceptical. “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. A sudden knock at the door startled her. “I have just ordered a carriage for her. It is abominable—” “What is the use of keeping up this note of indignation, Ann Veronica? Here I am! I am your lover, burning for you. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 21-09-2024 20:26:02
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