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Her eyes flashed and she withdrew the dagger, pulling away from him. It was red and chapped. “You silly wimmin,” he said over and over again throughout the hearing, plucking at his blotting-pad with busy hands. “Sure, are you sure you’re okay?” He exited off the highway onto a quiet road and pulled over. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 25-09-2024 06:48:35