" "That likeness is the chief cause of my misery," replied the widow, shuddering. How on earth does it concern you?” Annabel laughed hardly. It isn’t illusions—for us. The ruffian caught hold of her hair, and held her fast. Lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to Snow Hill. ‘Melusine, if you don’t let go my hand—’ He broke off as she dragged a pocket handkerchief from her sleeve. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist.
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This video was uploaded to ineel.net on 30-06-2024 12:14:02
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