The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. Like most officers, he’d had it especially made, for a man who loved danger had need of a precision instrument of defence. I can’t even make myself care. The evenings were dulcet and soft. I almost died from this flu.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOS4xNjYuNzUgLSAyNy0wNi0yMDI0IDIwOjU0OjMyIC0gNDQ5MjQ5MzQz
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