I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. And the bedchamber, for which Melusine instantly headed, was almost bright. “You have been very kind to me,” she said. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. Sorrow lay in the back of his mind as he withdrew, but he put it aside. “When did you start?” She said between puffs. . She confronted him with his own double-standard. One’s got to be a better man than one’s father, or what is the good of successive generations? Life is rebellion, or nothing.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDEzLjU4LjE0MC4yNDIgLSAyNi0wNi0yMDI0IDEyOjU1OjMyIC0gNDc1NjQ0MTI5
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