"My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. She had slapped him away with her free hand and the finger was released suddenly, sending her careening to the floor. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Father— dead.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxOS4xMTYuMzggLSAwMS0wNi0yMDI0IDIyOjI2OjMwIC0gMTg1MzI2MDY4MA==
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