She smiled at the sight of him, and thereat his radiation increased. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. With this view, he suffered him to pass on.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxOS45NS4xNjAgLSAwNC0wNy0yMDI0IDAzOjI3OjIzIC0gODA2MTMxNTgy
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