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Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. He came over to me. The Wastrel wiped the blood from his forehead. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe.

Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyNi4xODUuMTMzIC0gMDktMDctMjAyNCAwNzoxODowMyAtIDE2NTU4ODMyMDM=

This video was uploaded to brazilianportuguese.biz on 05-07-2024 14:01:27

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