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He swore that I was his wife, and—I shot him, Nigel, as his arms were closing around me. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 30-09-2024 16:33:03