His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. So the charge was dismissed. Spurlock was no longer a man before this instinct; he was a child in trouble. The class laughed, a few putting their hands to their foreheads in a military salute to mock her. C. I cannot let you go.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1LjE3MS4yNDEgLSAxMy0wNi0yMDI0IDEwOjI4OjQwIC0gNzc0NDU3ODk5
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