Who could say that the girl's father had not once been a fashionable clergyman in the States and that drink had got him and forced him down, step by step, until—to use the child's odd expression—he had come upon the beach? She was cynical, this spinster. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. “Oh yes,” said Miss Klegg; “I thought every one knew. It isn’t what I have been but what I am. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. My foster mom works there as a second job. She ignored his question. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjI1MC4yNTUgLSAxNS0wNy0yMDI0IDA5OjM5OjAyIC0gMTYxNzY0MzcxMw==
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