Her lover, Darrell, has embarked upon the Thames, where, if he's not capsized by the squall, (for it's blowing like the devil,) he stands a good chance of getting his throat cut by his pursuers—ha! ha! I tracked 'em to the banks of the river, and should have followed to see it out, if the watermen hadn't refused to take me. ’ ‘Ah, that is good,’ sighed the lady. There is a tragedy to come. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. I believe I am getting impudent. She could almost smell her mother’s attar of white roses and lemon verbena with the memory of the story.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 07-07-2024 13:00:46
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