She had gladly lowered her eyes as she had been instructed to in front of the fine ladies and lords, as she was more interested in their clothing and fripperies than their faces. One of them was a stout square-built man, with a singularly swarthy complexion, and harsh forbidding features. Only Leonardo, and then Jack, had shown her that she might be admired. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. But never mind that. “Why did you ever let me love you? Why did you ever let me peep through the gates of Paradise? Oh! my God! I don’t begin to feel and realize this yet. ‘You are related to General Lord Charvill?’ ‘Monsieur le baron, he is my grandpére,’ she confirmed. Papa doesn't even care, but he just goes along with whatever my Mom says.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ0LjIwNy4xNTEgLSAyMS0wNS0yMDI0IDAwOjI2OjE5IC0gOTI1MDAyNTI5
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