" "Rely on me," rejoined the executioner, throwing away his pipe, which was just finished. She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. She addressed him in a tone of puzzlement. The rest of his attire was nondescript. “She must go her own way. We shall be equally matched. "Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. There was nothing in his manner to suggest the misery of the preceding night.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM1LjIxNi4xMTkgLSAyMy0wNy0yMDI0IDAwOjA1OjA5IC0gMTI5NDIwMjczMw==
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