But I don't understand her; she's over my head. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. Clotilde’s stunning green eyes were reflected in the gazes of the tender young children, but their faces had been hollow and sunken, their hair matted, and their clothing in bad need of repair. “I suppose there’s no way of getting a decent income—independently. You act your part capitally, but it won't do. Tell him about the island, the coconut dance, the wooden tom-toms; read to him. Her husband sat in a chair beside her bed, his head in his hands.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNi4xODEuODkgLSAyMS0wNS0yMDI0IDEyOjUyOjI5IC0gMTYzNjY2NzEzMA==
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