"Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. He turned his back on that temptation. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. The door to the library burst open. 155 The ringing doorbell jarred her from her stupor. It was an oldfashioned peasant blouse, white, square necked, and trimmed with lace. “Good-bye, John,” she said simply.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOS4xMTQuNzQgLSAwMi0wNy0yMDI0IDA4OjU1OjU4IC0gMTMzMjgwOTM3Ng==
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