For in life there is but one hour: an epic or an idyll: all other hours lead up to and down from it. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. The ambitions of his life, and they were many, seemed to lie far away, broken up dreams in some outside world where the way was rough and the sky always grey.
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This video was uploaded to donnematureporche.top on 20-05-2024 13:59:25
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