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Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. He shuddered. Their soft, voluptuous bodies wove among each other to the faint notes of a lyre. “Only you are the woman I love, and you are in trouble.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 04:53:23