“Will he live?” The doctor shook his head. "My father!" she whispered. It did not matter that he wore the cloth; something was wrong with him. Then as she drew nearer paint showed upon her face, and a harsh purpose behind the quiet expression of her open countenance, and a sort of unreality in her splendor betrayed itself for which Ann Veronica could not recall the right word—a word, half understood, that lurked and hid in her mind, the word “meretricious. Gosse were you born, and Gosse will you remain to your death. Creative work appeals to me wonderfully. But this is not sufficient.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM3LjE0My43NyAtIDAyLTA2LTIwMjQgMDQ6MzA6MTQgLSAzODY4MjM3Njk=
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