She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. " "And I'm glad your worship's recognition doesn't come too late," observed the Master. Here you only waste your time. The blast once more swept over the agitated river: whirled off the sheets of foam, scattered them far and wide in rain-drops, and left the raging torrent blacker than before. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOS4xNjcuMjQ4IC0gMDItMDctMjAyNCAwMzo0NDo0OCAtIDYzMTQ1NTM0
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