" "I was sure you wouldn't injure me, Captain," remarked Quilt, in a wheedling tone, while he felt about for his sword; "you're far too brave to strike a fallen man. Why should she trouble herself over that young fool, who was nothing to her; who, when he eventually sobered up, would not be able to recognize her, or if he did, as something phantasmagorical? Perhaps he should not apply the term "fool"; "unfortunate" might be the more accurate application. You would be alarmed of how sulphurous it is, how sickeningly sweet. Still keeping ahead of his pursuers, he ran along the direct road, till the houses disappeared and he got into the open country. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it. Then he sat down again in a chair and said that people who wrote novels ought to be strung up. She tied the obi clumsily about her waist, then gently laid her hand on the bowed head. Too intent on her search, and convinced besides that she was quite alone, she had been an easy prey.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjQyLjEzMCAtIDAxLTA3LTIwMjQgMDQ6Mjk6MDMgLSAxODUzMzk2Mjk5
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