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She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart. Her shoulders were gripped hard and a familiar voice spoke. . It is I who am persecuted by the man who calls himself your husband. Even when you've a knave to deal with, let your actions be plain, and above-board.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 17-09-2024 20:59:02
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