’ He fitted the hat onto her head, and was aware as he did so of her eyes watching his face. Never had he corrected her with hand or whip, the ring in his voice had always been sufficient to cower her. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. She tried to imagine the collective effect of the Fadden Ball; she had never seen a fancy-dress gathering in her life. “Anna,” she moaned, “I am a jealous, ungrateful woman. One or the other.
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This video was uploaded to probiv.club on 19-05-2024 03:57:52
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