" Lady Trafford sighed deeply. "A vow," she answered,—"a vow to my dead husband. ’ A peal of delighted laughter greeted this threat. ’ Jack gasped. The chief scene of these disgusting orgies,—the cellar, just referred to,—was a large low-roofed vault, about four feet below the level of the street, perfectly dark, unless when illumined by a roaring fire, and candles stuck in pyramidal lumps of clay, with a range of butts and barrels at one end, and benches and tables at the other, where the prisoners, debtors, and malefactors male and female, assembled as long as their money lasted, and consumed the time in drinking, smoking, and gaming with cards and dice. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. The few pence left in her purse would only provide a very scanty lunch. Her roving eagerness was at all times shaded with shyness, reserve, repression.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOC4xNjIuMjAxIC0gMjMtMDktMjAyNCAwMzoxMzo1NCAtIDE5OTM5NTM4
This video was uploaded to woodsdrivingschool.com on 19-09-2024 10:22:32
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8