Await me in the coach. This is the way the old thief brings in all his heavy plunder, which he stows in out-of-the-way holes in his infernal dwelling. ‘Go then. I’ll be waiting for you outside. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. "Excuse me," he said, plunging his fork into a fowl, and transferring it to his plate.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNC41OC4xMjIgLSAxMC0wNi0yMDI0IDE4OjU2OjQ1IC0gNjc0NjEzODA0
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