“I don’t think you can have heard me, Vee,” he said, with intensely controlled fury. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. ‘Not if I heard him aright. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. His hand flew across the paper. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxNi4yMzMuNTggLSAyNi0wNC0yMDI0IDIwOjQ5OjE3IC0gMTg2NDY5Mjcw
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