“It’s my fault. When the twins had first come to live in the 208 house, they were thin and bony, their tiny mouths crying for food. The floor was planked with oak, and covered with iron staples, hooks, and ringbolts, with heavy chains attached to them. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge.
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This video was uploaded to siguava.com on 07-06-2024 10:48:41
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