“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. I’ll wait my whole life!” He cried. “I think,” he said, “that some one ought to warn her. The burden of decision had been transferred. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead. " There had never been, from that fatal hour eight months gone down to this, the inclination to confess. Meanwhile, she doesn’t realize she’s pregnant and he’s still after her, day after day. After a long fifteen seconds, she pulled her head back into the seat, looking at his face from the close angle, his nose huge and out of perspective, his eyes like round blue pearls. Even now she could trace the outline of his shape behind the left-hand curtain. She felt that for a time at any rate her depressing struggle against continual failure was at an end. It was the last thing she felt like drinking. " Jack was about to comply with the request, when an unlooked-for interruption occurred. The one profession, the one decent profession, I mean, for a woman—except the stage— is teaching, and there we trample on one another. ‘She is a maid only, and I do not believe she has married Emile. “Yes, I will go,” she promised, with a queer little smile.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMjIuMjA5LjEyMCAtIDIwLTA1LTIwMjQgMDc6MTQ6NDcgLSAxMTI0OTU5NjAz
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