He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. So often as she had herself manipulated a dagger, she could not mistake the shape that pressured across her chest, or the sharp point that dug below her bosom. It would be an ice storm by midnight if it did not let up. To his consternation, she was holding an unwieldy, ugly-looking pistol, all wood and tarnished steel, with both hands about the butt.
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This video was uploaded to donnematureporche.top on 17-05-2024 01:13:41
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