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She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors. Dreams of adorable infants danced through her head as she cradled blankets in her arms. The woman I wanted was another man's wife. Women, she had been taught, who exposed the flesh of their bodies under the eyes of man were in a special catagory of the damned. There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. Annabel shines like a star in the darkness, Rosamund queens it a rose, deep rose; But the lady I love is like sunshine in April weather, She gleams and gladdens, she warms—and goes. ‘But you,’ she said in the friendliest way imaginable, ‘are a person tout à fait sympathique, I think.
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This video was uploaded to donnematureporche.top on 16-05-2024 21:01:38
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