“It’s the stir of spring,” he said. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. Again the chalky pallor spread even to her lips, her eyes became lit with the old terror. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIyMi4xOS4xMTEgLSAwMi0wNi0yMDI0IDIyOjUzOjQ4IC0gNjg1NTQyODI3
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