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It was a neat, efficient-looking room, with a writing-table placed with a business-like regard to the window, and a bookcase surmounted by a pig’s skull, a dissected frog in a sealed bottle, and a pile of shiny, black-covered note-books. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. He jumped back, cursing. Any one very badly moved choked down a few mouthfuls; the symptom of supreme distress was not to be able to touch a bit. Andrew's church, the bell of which was tolling, was covered with spectators. Bribble’s rendering of the service —he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and was still teeming with ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from the organ made it clear that, whatever snivelling there might be down in the chancel, that excellent wind instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian way, as glad as ever it could be.
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This video was uploaded to pok-ddal23.live on 08-06-2024 00:52:34
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