“Go on!”
“You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an
Englishman’s. At this point Lucy, in an effort perhaps—foolhardy, in Gerald’s opinion—to
pour oil on troubled waters, rose swiftly to her feet and came towards the old
man, her hand held out. "I cannot—dare not injure him," rejoined Trenchard, with a haggard look, and
sinking, as if paralysed, into a chair. He did not even reply to her for several minutes. She wondered what the problem
was, why the buildup?
She wanted to go to his apartment that evening but
stayed herself. She waited
for him to leave the room, and turned back to Gerald. "What did you say to him?" inquired Jonathan, suspiciously. "Where is he?" asked she, in an agitated whisper. ”
Shari immediately commenced a strip search of her
own closet, tossing on the bed a pair of tight jeans and an
even tighter sweater. It’s all nonsense. Then suddenly he seized a new
preparation bottle that stood upon his table and contained the better part of a
week’s work—a displayed dissection of a snail, beautifully done—and hurled it
across the room, to smash resoundingly upon the cemented floor under the
bookcase; then, without either haste or pause, he swept his arm along a shelf of
re-agents and sent them to mingle with the debris on the floor.
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This video was uploaded to m.damaulifm.org on 05-07-2024 09:57:51