He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick. Some automaton within her produced in a quite unfamiliar voice the remark, “They’re playing football. Do you want me, too?” “Yes,” she whispered foolishly, in the throes of rapture. He must not in any way call their attention to it. It was necessary to think, and think quickly. It might have been the moon, or the phosphorescence of the broken water, or it might have been his abysmal loneliness; but suddenly he caught her face in his hands and kissed her on the mouth. Nobody can anticipate your next move.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTYuMjA3LjEyMyAtIDIzLTA2LTIwMjQgMDU6MzU6NDggLSAxMjQyNjQzODMy
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