"My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. The door is open, so it is needless to ask leave to enter. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. “So what is John up to today?” Lucy asked with a weary smile. "Your sister is dead," said he, in a deep whisper. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. It had been a trying day. My servant. Well, it had to happen somewhen. Don't forget to cut out all effervescent water. Sir John gave his order, deliberately stumbling now and then over a word, and anglicizing others. At the expiration of an hour, by dint of unremitting exertion, he had made so large a breach in the chimney, that he could stand upright in it. Much too formal for a cosy chat between old friends.
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This video was uploaded to probiv.club on 07-06-2024 13:09:04
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