" "Couldn't … couldn't I go with you this afternoon?" "Too hot. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. She did not want to seem to shrink from conversation, but all sorts of odd questions were running through her mind. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. Suddenly, such a shout as has seldom smitten human ears rent the air. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said. “There is something which I must say to you. “Want to see my fangs?” She asked.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTMzLjEyMS4yMDkgLSAwOS0wNi0yMDI0IDA4OjU1OjE5IC0gMTU0MjIzNjQ1NA==
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