My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. Well might she do so, Gerald thought in irritation. She could feel her face turning beet red. He was, in fact, quite eager to go on living. “Where?” “To that ball. This smile was more harrowing even than her former rigid look. Marina doted over her pregnant daughter, adorned in fine brocades, reassuring her that it was certain to be a either a baby boy or a girl of such great beauty she would eclipse them both. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. He was perched on the very edge of the leather seat of the coach, his threecornered hat twisting nervously in his hands, and from time to time he passed a tongue over dry lips. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it.
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This video was uploaded to watchwrestle.com on 18-09-2024 12:50:39
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