She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. It was still possible the child might be in safety. ‘Comment? This is not a mirror!’ It was a portrait. One cannot trust any man at all. It isn’t. “Wow. “And, after all, I am just one common person!” She watched the throb of the arteries in the stem of her neck, and put her hand at last gently and almost timidly to where her heart beat beneath her breast.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjExOC41LjE2MiAtIDAzLTA2LTIwMjQgMDM6NDU6MTUgLSAxMTQyMzUwNTc4
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