” “When?” “At tea. They were bathing in the stream. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. ” It occurred to her that she had never seen her father dining out before, never watched him critically as an equal. She had decided that she would spend the next morning answering advertisements in the papers that abounded in the writing-room; and so, after half an hour’s perusal of back numbers of the Sketch in the drawingroom, she had gone to bed. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ4LjExMi4yMTEgLSAyOS0wNi0yMDI0IDAwOjU4OjM0IC0gMjA2NzQzODUwMQ==
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