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His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. Shame and electricity coursed through her veins, flowing directly from him in a flash flood. “Mary! What’s going on! Why are you crying?!” He commanded an answer in a worried and slightly irritated tone. “Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 02-10-2024 02:08:57