He reminds me of a slave I once had in Rome with those sullen dark eyes and that wistful pout. Charcoal. His glance swept up again and found her staring at him with much of her usual defiance, if a touch less of her customary assurance. Then instinct took over. Wearied at length with thinking on the past, and terrified by the prospect of the future, he threw himself on the straw with which the cage was littered, and endeavoured to compose himself to slumber.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 28-06-2024 03:44:03
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