The air was crisp and dry. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. Whatever he did, she was bound to scream. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. There were the burnt papers still in the grate. I want to but I cannot! Please accept that!” She yelled.
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This video was uploaded to thiruvalluvan.com on 18-09-2024 05:48:25
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