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The moment I entered the room, and found you a prisoner in the hands of Jonathan Wild, I guessed how matters stood, and acted accordingly. “I think we are growing sensible,” he said. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. Glancing around his prison, he began to think it possible he might effect an escape from it. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. That’s the wonder of it.
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This video was uploaded to thiruvalluvan.com on 21-09-2024 03:09:20
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