To view this video please enable JavaScript, and consider upgrading to a web browser that supports HTML5 video
Then he went back to his rooms and lit a cigar. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Guiding this man of hers over the troubled sea of life had engraved these lines.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTMzLjEzNC4xNTEgLSAyNC0wOS0yMDI0IDE5OjQyOjEyIC0gMTk4NjM3NTgyNw==
This video was uploaded to southwestbyways.info on 20-09-2024 23:47:45