On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. Filled as he was with conflicting emotions, any stretch of silence would be dangerous. His eyes never left her face. Who was he to tread on her dreams? She had heroworshipped an unscrupulous adventurer, who had not hesitated to impose on her youth and her ignorance. You might trust me with the Chevalier himself,—I'd never betray him.
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This video was uploaded to donnematureporche.top on 26-06-2024 02:36:48
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