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Forgetting her occupation in her anger, she left off bathing Darrell's wrist; and, squeezing his arm so tightly that the boy winced with pain, she clapped her right hand upon her hip, and turned, with flashing eyes and an inflamed countenance, towards her crest-fallen spouse. She was not afraid exactly, but there was that about her loneliness to-night she distrusted. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. Jonathan had not deceived him.
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This video was uploaded to wallpapersexpert.com on 02-10-2024 03:10:09