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’ ‘Damn you, I should have beaten you,’ Gerald swore, holding fast to his corner of the little square of linen. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. It is not every sort of creature needs—these males. The man lingered.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 10:36:30