He tasted like cinders and ash, but not of smoke. His throat filled; he wanted to weep. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. “Quite unusually cold for the time of year,” he said. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. “In the end,” it seemed to be thinking, “they embalmed me with the utmost respect—sound spices chosen to endure—the best! I took my world as I found it. Its smooth surface soothed her nerves. We'll get together this afternoon; and you can pretend that I am your father.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQzLjIyMi4yMjUgLSAwMS0wNi0yMDI0IDIyOjEzOjAxIC0gMTM5NDc5ODk1NQ==
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