But at length, there was a click, and with a swish, the panel of painted books swung outward from the wall. They cleaned up the mess as best they could and she went home with him docilely. It just made me mad to the boiling point. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. If Miss Charvill should take it into her head to dash off on some foolish errand, go with her by all means. I waited for her at the back. What can she be? The wife of a country tradesman, or a duchess? And such a meek little husband too.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjE3LjIzNyAtIDEzLTA2LTIwMjQgMTY6MjI6MjEgLSAxMzU4ODY2OTg3
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