Taking the direction pointed out, he rode off. Her fancy dress, save for the green-gray stockings, the pseudo-Turkish slippers, and baggy silk trousered ends natural to a Corsair’s bride, was hidden in a large black-silk-hooded operacloak. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. The coachman having received his order, and being offered an extra fare if he drove quickly, set off at full speed. His name is carved upon a beam up stairs. Ruth is not another man's wife; she is all your own, for better or for worse.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDEzLjU5LjEwMy42MiAtIDAxLTA3LTIwMjQgMDg6Mzk6MTcgLSAyMDAxOTcyMDE0
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