Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. But at this, he halted, turning his frowning gaze back on her. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. The roof was partially untiled; the chimneys were tottering; the side-walls bulged, and were supported by a piece of timber propped against the opposite house; the glass in most of the windows was broken, and its place supplied with paper; while, in some cases, the very frames of the windows had been destroyed, and the apertures were left free to the airs of heaven. "Help!—help, Mr. " "Does that villain still maintain his power?" asked the stranger sternly. "Curse you! Where are the bailiffs? Rot you! have you lost your tongue? Devil seize you! you could bawl loud enough a moment ago!" "Silence, Blueskin!" interposed an authoritative voice, immediately behind the ruffian. “You see, father,” she said, “it isn’t only this affair of the dance. ’ The gentleness in his voice nearly overset her.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTM1LjIwNy4yMDAgLSAyMi0wNy0yMDI0IDAyOjU4OjU4IC0gNzYwMzk5MDAz
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