“Called myself Anna,” the girl repeated coolly. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk. ” “You love—Anna?” she exclaimed. ‘You are extremely empty-headed, Lucy. A bad man, in fact. The little girl uttered no remonstrance; but, replacing the flowers in the basket, burst into tears, and withdrew. She occupied a small sofa, a little apart, a ruddy-complexioned gentleman some years her senior beside her, and glanced about with an air of considerable unease.
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This video was uploaded to adiszena.com on 25-09-2024 02:13:55
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