" "I must trouble you to hold the child, then, for a minute, while I run up to the garret, where I've hidden it for safety," said Mrs. ” “My God!” said Manning, in a stage-aside. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. "Yes; but what is good isn't always proper. And I have wanted to so very much. “I remember when you walked me home. I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. I burned it.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjE1LjcgLSAwMS0wNy0yMDI0IDA5OjQyOjIxIC0gMTUzMjM1MTA1OQ==
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