She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. What a mercy that the blow aimed at her by the ruffian, Wild, though it brought her to the brink of the grave, should have restored her to reason! Ah! she stirs. It does not matter to him either way. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. He wondered if the young fool had any idea of what he had drawn in this tragic lottery called marriage.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMjIuMjM2LjI0OSAtIDAyLTA2LTIwMjQgMjI6MzA6MTAgLSAxMjIwMzU3MDYy
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