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He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. S. He has three days to live. For a time she promenaded the room. Constance Widgett’s abundant copper-red hair was bent down over some dimly remunerative work—stencilling in colors upon rough, white material—at a kitchen table she had dragged up-stairs for the purpose, while on her bed there was seated a slender lady of thirty or so in a dingy green dress, whom Constance had introduced with a wave of her hand as Miss Miniver. It was Ramage, the occupant of the big house at the end of the Avenue. Hey. That’s who you ought to go and see, miss.
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This video was uploaded to southmsnightout.com on 09-06-2024 06:41:46
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