“You let him touch you!” John whispered back. Occasionally he revealed tidbits about his past after a good kill. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. I've left mine on the spikes of the New Prison, and must borrow yours.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 26-09-2024 11:31:53