At length she hit upon it: bubbling water. “So very clear and cold,” she said. A white house that she often found charming loomed gray and ashen, its gardens shorn for the coming winter. Her complexion was wan and faded, except where it was tinged by a slight hectic flush, that made the want of colour more palpable; her eyes were large and black, but heavy and lustreless; her cheeks sunken; her frame emaciated; her dark hair thickly scattered with gray. It was approached from the street by a flight of broad stone steps, leading to a ponderous door, plated with iron, and secured on the inner side by huge bolts, and a lock, with wards of a prodigious size. I do not wish to return to Paris. “What a beautiful mare’s nest!” she exclaimed.
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This video was uploaded to woodsdrivingschool.com on 20-09-2024 14:40:18
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