In the adjacent apartment Ann Veronica found a middle-aged woman with a tired face under the tired hat she wore, sitting at a desk opening letters while a dusky, untidy girl of eight-or nine-and-twenty hammered industriously at a typewriter. His pale and boyish waist was nearly as slim as her own. He motioned the young man to the rear chair, because at that hour the youth appeared to be a quantity close to zero. Hurry to me, I entreat you. . “Who?” She asked. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyMC42Mi4xMjAgLSAwMi0wNi0yMDI0IDIzOjU4OjQ4IC0gMTIyMTgxNjE3
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