"My mother!—my poor mother!" ejaculated Thames, falling on his knees, and bursting into tears. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. Behind Mrs. "May I beg to know whom I've the pleasure of adressing? Jackson, I conclude, is merely an assumed name. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQyLjE5NS4xMjggLSAzMC0wNi0yMDI0IDA3OjQ2OjIzIC0gNjEzNTgxODI5
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