I never had even a real doll," she added, as she snuggled the flea-bitten head to her heart. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. I have neither father, mother, brother, sister, nor husband—I have only him. She was always initiating petty breaches of discipline. “I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. ’ He flushed. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities.
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This video was uploaded to southwestbyways.info on 22-09-2024 18:37:18
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