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The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features—especially the nose and chin,—and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery. As the Wastrel played, Spurlock knew that the man saw the inevitable end—death by drink; saw the glory of the things he had thrown away, the past, once so full of promise. Then she looked up at Brendon. She had agonized over it for weeks. It's a bad omen to be thrown near that door. There is no Heaven for your mother.

Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjE5MC4xNTYuOTMgLSAyMi0wOS0yMDI0IDIyOjM1OjAwIC0gNDAxMTAxNDEz

This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 19-09-2024 02:33:26

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