She drew up a chair and sat down, putting her palm on the damp, cold forehead. He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader. Before there is any change, any real change, I shall be dead—dead—dead and finished—two hundred years!. One keeps rules in order to be one’s self. ‘Been led up the garden path by that confounded rapscallion.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyMi44My4xODUgLSAxOS0wNS0yMDI0IDExOjU2OjAyIC0gMTc5MDAxNzMzNQ==
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