“Could you play ‘Fiddler on the Roof’?” father Thomas pleaded. Swiftly following the sound of knocking, she crossed right and passed through a door near the windows—and found herself in the bookroom. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. She emerged with a white face and wide-open eyes upon a little, red-lit landing. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better. ” They talked for a while in somewhat dreamy fashion, Anna especially being more silent than usual. We are amiable to one another, but we don’t mix.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ5LjI1NS4yNCAtIDExLTA2LTIwMjQgMTk6MTI6MzggLSAxMzgwMDMxNjcw
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