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The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. I shall charge you five per cent. It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. “It isn’t objections exactly. But two weeks later he returned. ’ ‘That’s odd.

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This video was uploaded to adiszena.com on 14-06-2024 09:35:45

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