“Ebenezer Wopp, I’ve tarlked to you till I’m black in the face, but it’s jist wastin’ valyble breath. Yer brains is allers wool-gatherin’. The hammer’s in yer hip-pocket.”
lottery songbad, Mrs. Wopp’s voice, a dramatic outburst before which almost any cloud would have quailed, filled the bedroom. Betty turned to Nell Gordon, “I hope all yer clouds’ll hev silver linin’s, Miss Gordon,” she smiled.
◆ Messages, Voice
lottery songbad, Video
lottery songbad
Enjoy voice and video
lottery songbad “Please, Mister, my nose was bleedin’ an’ I lorst my way lookin’ fer warter, an’ here I am on Jording’s stormy banks.”.
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