The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. His conscience, however, was entirely another affair.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQwLjE5NS4yMjUgLSAyMS0wOS0yMDI0IDE3OjM2OjE4IC0gMTkyMjU2NTA3Ng==
This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 18-09-2024 00:45:29
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8