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. Then, in a few years, he and Ruth might fare forth in comfort and security. I’m off to England. "Your name is Spurlock?" "It is.
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This video was uploaded to adiszena.com on 06-06-2024 19:42:56
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