Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. An ugly flush stained his cheeks. He told some of the particulars. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. She walked over to them still carrying the trousers in her hands, and stooped to examine them. John’s father added cheerfully, “So, do you play any violin?” She balked at the stereotype, but admitted, “Yes, I play violin. Almost simultaneously they burst out laughing. She was on the rim of civilization, entering, as Spurlock was on the rim, preparing to make his exit.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjM5LjE0MiAtIDIzLTA2LTIwMjQgMDU6MTQ6MDYgLSAxMTQzMDIxMjU0
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