Three a week is my allowance, and, if I get short ones, four. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. The next morning she went out with her post-office savings bank-book, and telegraphed for a warrant to draw out all the money she had in the world.
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This video was uploaded to svarga.info on 24-11-2023 16:13:04