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She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. “Quite right,” she said. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. “What else can happen?” asked Miss Miniver, with a little weak gesture at the glow. ‘Unheard of, ain’t it? To tell the truth, I half expected him to leave everything to one of his doxies. ” “Excuse me,” Mr. Look somewhere else in life.
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This video was uploaded to fairlopwaters.info on 19-05-2024 03:37:45
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