A chill rain thrummed against the sides of John’s car, having slowed from deluge to steady patter, the snow was 158 dissolved where it lay. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. She sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band.
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This video was uploaded to motorsport-fotografie.info on 05-06-2024 17:48:31
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