“Heavens, look at the time!” she exclaimed. She is in the hall now. What you want to do is to imagine every woman a Becky Sharp and every man a Rawdon Crawley. She was about to rush to his side, when she saw his clenched hands rise and fall upon the sand repeatedly. He lowered his voice a little and leaned over towards her. Her sadness was manageable only because she was so familiar with its phases, because she could observe its moods remotely, like an astronomer studying the moon. Only she hadn’t.
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This video was uploaded to ccc999.shop on 12-06-2024 16:20:35
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