A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. An inarticulate instinct which now found expression. Kneebone—she was too well acquainted; having, more than once, been obliged to repel his advances; and, though his impertinence would have given her little concern at another season, it now added considerably to her distraction. It depresses one, you know. . I have nothing, nothing that can possibly be passion for you.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOC4xMjYuMTEgLSAyNS0wNS0yMDI0IDExOjM1OjE5IC0gMTE1MjQwNzU1NQ==
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