It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. What is it that you wish from me? You would like to arrest me for spying? Very well, arrest me. Set on unravelling her secrets, Gerald pursues every possible clue—much to the indignation of Mademoiselle. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ5LjIxNC4zMiAtIDA2LTA1LTIwMjQgMDE6NDg6NTggLSAzOTY4MzY5MzA=
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