She was lovely, painted like the porcelain doll he had always wanted her to be. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. ’ ‘But why, Marthe,’ asked Melusine, as she walked into the house. She recoiled. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust.
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This video was uploaded to thenextfuture.net on 23-09-2024 13:27:43
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