Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “I believe,” he said slowly, “that I shall do best to throw myself upon your consideration and tell you the truth. He had pictured her, if indeed she had ever had the courage to do this thing, as sitting alone, convulsed with guilty fear, starting at her own shadow, a slave to constant terror. Anna jumped into a waiting hansom.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ1Ljk0LjE1OSAtIDAyLTA2LTIwMjQgMDU6MTE6NTkgLSAxNTA2ODIxMDA2
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