A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. Wood, sharply. But I proved it to them! Oh yeah, I told John, but I don’t think he believes me either. “He is Annabel’s husband,” she reminded him.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 14-09-2024 04:44:43
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