She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. He might have been a complete innocent, she did not know and did not bother to find out. She thought of leaving the Beck house less and less these days, though the suitcase remained packed underneath her creaky bed. Pardon what I have said, Madam.
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This video was uploaded to donnematureporche.top on 31-05-2024 02:29:21
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