It was as if she had come upon the beautiful marble façade of a fairy palace, was invited to enter, and behind the door—nothing. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. There is no Heaven for your mother.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjM0LjE2MiAtIDIxLTA2LTIwMjQgMjM6MjE6MzIgLSAyMDc1Mjc2MzIw
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