Presently. The sun-canvas was stowed; and Spurlock's chair was set forward the foremast, where the bulging jib cast a sliding blue shadow over him. Fritz sang for her sometimes, for Fritz could sing even before he was able to form words. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyMi4xMTMuNDEgLSAxNi0wNy0yMDI0IDA2OjAwOjE3IC0gMTUwODcyMjM5Mw==
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