” He meditated. “It is part of the irony of life,” he said. The fireplace was at the other end, with the sheeted shapes of two sofas either side. My son went down after his death. He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. And I’ll have that story off you as we journey back to town.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDUyLjE0LjIzOS4xNTUgLSAxNi0wNi0yMDI0IDEyOjQ0OjQzIC0gMTI5ODM0NzQ4OA==
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