” He beamed upon her. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. ‘What in Hades d’ye mean, thanks to me? Want to blame anyone, blame that rapscallion who calls himself your father. She’s a snob. After all, what can it matter? It was just to make sure. He had no wish to drag the footman out of his way, once he had got his questions answered. She even hit the jackpot in 1952 when she found a photograph in a London issue of Vogue. But we get over it. She could not bear the shame of it. She was nearly dead. Not at all.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ5LjIzNS42IC0gMzAtMDYtMjAyNCAwMjo1OToyMyAtIDMwMjQxMTE0NA==
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