“Lucy, where is your callous? All violinists have calluses on their necks and hands from playing. I have an idea that you are in some sort of trouble. “Let me see,” he said. It was like the grin of a fiend, and made my flesh creep on my bones. "We have had a sad loss, my dear Winifred," he began,—"for I must use the privilege of an old friend, and address you by that familiar name,—we have had a sad loss in the death of your lamented parent, whose memory I shall for ever revere. He was just getting cross about your being late for dinner—you know his way—when it came. His features were regular, and finely-formed; his complexion bright and blooming,—a little shaded, however, by travel and exposure to the sun; and, with a praiseworthy contempt for the universal and preposterous fashion then prevailing, of substituting a peruke for the natural covering of the head, he allowed his own dark-brown hair to fall over his shoulders in ringlets as luxuriant as those that distinguished the court gallant in Charles the Second's days—a fashion, which we do not despair of seeing revived in our own days.
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This video was uploaded to tructiepcauthongthuongde.org on 20-09-2024 16:04:05
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