Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. How she had hated it!… All these mumblings which were never explained, which carried no more sense to her brain than they would have carried to Old Morgan's swearing parrot. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. But I am not worthy to be any man's wife —far less his wife.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExNy4xMDMuMjggLSAyMy0wNi0yMDI0IDA0OjU3OjM5IC0gOTQ3MjY5MDA5
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