She felt herself falling, her bile rising in her 61 throat, the cold wind spinning around her like vertigo. You don’t know the thoughts we have; the things we can do and say. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. It is in vain to struggle against the arm of fate. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTI4LjE3My4xNTUgLSAwOS0wNi0yMDI0IDEyOjQxOjMwIC0gODQ1NjAxNTky
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