“I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. The flicker of an eyelash might betray his presence.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTUuMjM3LjI0NiAtIDI2LTA2LTIwMjQgMDE6NTM6NTcgLSAxNjMwNjY0OTk0
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