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" So she told him the adventure of the two beachcombers in the typhoon, and how they became regenerated by their magnificent courage. It was she who felt guilty as he showed her their bedroom, smelling her perfume, ingesting their psychic leftovers. What he needed was not a food but a flavour; and the cocoanut taste of the chestnuts soothed his burning tongue and throat. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. I do not love any one.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 01-10-2024 21:05:57