Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. She sat, crouched together, by the corner of the hearthrug under the bookcase that supported the pig’s skull, and looked into the fire and up at Ann Veronica’s face, and let herself go. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. “No! My father. They carried no more than bare subsistence wages; and they demanded all her time and energy.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDEzLjU5LjI0Ny43NSAtIDI5LTA2LTIwMjQgMTM6Mjc6MDkgLSAxNzM0NTc3ODky
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