Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. Gianfrancesco’s had curved differently and was darker. Next moment, she had shut the bookshelf panel upon him. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. It was as if her aesthetic sense had become inflamed.
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This video was uploaded to live-sport.live on 30-06-2024 15:44:47
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