The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. “They might do you good,” she remarked. "You came hither under my protection, and you shall depart freely,—nay, more, you shall have an hour's grace. But, whether she likes it or not, I aim to be on hand to get her out of it.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyMC45Ni4yMTQgLSAyMi0wOS0yMDI0IDA2OjIxOjE0IC0gMTM2NjcxNTQyNQ==
This video was uploaded to thiruvalluvan.com on 20-09-2024 17:49:17
Related resources: Ref1 - Ref2 - Ref3 - Ref4 - Ref5 - Ref6 - Ref7 - Ref8 - Ref9 - Ref10 - Ref11 - Ref12 - Ref13 - Ref14