” She pointed to the envelope still resting upon the mantelpiece. The silence grew unbearable, so she asked, \"What is your surname, John?\" \"My surname? You mean my last name?\" \"Yes. ” “I think so,” said Ann Veronica, and colored. It was not only that her father had said all sorts of inconsistent and unreasonable things, but that by some incomprehensible infection she herself had replied in the same vein. She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. His face was downcast. By and by he ventured to peer into this window. He wrote poems to her beauty that he recited from a seemingly infinite memory.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMjIuMjQ4LjEgLSAxOC0wNi0yMDI0IDE2OjM4OjI4IC0gMTkzMzY1OTI0Mw==
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