As I hope for mercy, I speak the truth!— let him deny it if he can. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. Drawing a pistol, and unclosing his lantern with the quickness of thought, he then burst through an open trap-door into a small loft. “You see you do not know how much of truth there is in his story. ‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. “I thought that I heard a groan,” Anna whispered.
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This video was uploaded to motorsport-fotografie.info on 04-07-2024 05:22:27
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