“You know,” he went on, “this doesn’t seem to me to end anything. It’s the poor dears who do, who know they will, know they can’t keep it up, who need to clutch at way-side flowers. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. He would raise her up once again, ply her with silks and jewels again, all of the accoutrements of the new generation: the cars, the toys, the restaurants, and the prestige. Then she would be dead, and that was no use. Clarice rubbed her belly, singing songs to the unborn baby. And probably the girl would wear herself out, too. “I want to speak to you about a little thing, Vee,” said Mr. Each time a daughter had been born to him he had concealed his chagrin with great tenderness and effusion from his wife, and had sworn unwontedly and with passionate sincerity in the bathroom.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ3LjYuMTAgLSAxMC0wNi0yMDI0IDE0OjExOjUxIC0gMTczNzcwMTg4Nw==
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