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He leaned towards her, laid his hand tenderly upon hers. A stout female stood in the aperture, an oil lamp in her hand. ‘That’s wicked, that is. “We have no airs and graces here, and my hat hangs from a peg in the passage. The sound of their strident voices floated upwards, the high nasal note of the predominant Americans, the shrill laughter of girls quick to appreciate the wit of such of their male companions as thought it worth while to be amusing.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 22-09-2024 02:50:11