"Red apples and snow!" she sent back at him, her face suddenly transfixed by some inner glory. Go off and live together—until we can marry. It’s gone. ‘A spitfire, ain’t she, sir?’ Roding ignored this. He kissed her at the door. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTIuMTQ2Ljg3IC0gMjAtMDUtMjAyNCAwMToyMDo0NCAtIDgxNjEwMjEyNA==
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