She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. “Can’t stop, thanks,” he answered. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. It was about—a question of what I might do or might not do. We felt like thieves. This door, which was open, Jonathan locked and took out the key. Help—should she need it—from the natives was out of the question. She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. I don’t care! I’m glad I did. We already had a place to mislay blame. The audience clapped more heartily.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOC4xNTIuOTMgLSAwMy0wNi0yMDI0IDAxOjA3OjQxIC0gMTcyNTQxNzE5MA==
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