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She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. Her fingers passed over a cunningly wrought surface of wood, with just the correct amount of protrusion, the precise colours of dyed leather, and cleverly gilded surfaces and neatly painted lettering. Always as black and bitter as gall. You must remember, you've just begun to read; you haven't any comparisons. "I wouldn't force him for the world: but if he don't tip the stivers, may I be cursed if he don't get a taste of the aqua pompaginis.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 20-09-2024 23:21:45
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