She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. That is not reasonable. "No such thing," rejoined the jailer; "he's coming on business. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. But we can’t help noticing.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 17-05-2024 16:41:34
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