Then she glanced at the cards again, over which her aunt’s many-ringed hand played, and then at the rather weak, rather plump face that surveyed its operations. It was not your fault you failed. "All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing. To have spoken lightly on such a subject a few hours ago would have seemed incredible. She put her head out of the window. That is why Wall Street broke your father; he was honest. For all the enervating heat, he applied himself vigorously to his tasks. ” She shook her head. “He sees through it all. "I might return the question.
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This video was uploaded to pok-ddal23.live on 01-06-2024 16:50:01
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