It was long and narrow, a well-lit, wellventilated, quiet gallery of small tables and sinks, pervaded by a thin smell of methylated spirit and of a mitigated and sterilized organic decay. She opened her suitcase—new and smelling strongly of leather—and took out of it a book, dogeared and precariously held together, bound in faded blue cloth and bearing the inscription: The Universal Handbook. “That thing’s going on,” she told herself. There was no answer. Opening the trap-door, he then descended to the vaults —searched each cell, and every nook and corner separately.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-06-2024 04:50:16
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