He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. He recognized the handwriting, and turned a shade paler. ‘Dolt! Muttonheaded oaf! Why the deuce couldn’t he have sent you home?’ Valade cut in at that. It reached her only slowly that Ann Veronica was standing to her resolution.
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This video was uploaded to thiruvalluvan.com on 18-09-2024 03:56:49
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