’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. She was always the last person to exit after the crowds had stampeded, trailing slowly behind them like dust. Her secret thoughts made some hasty, half-hearted excursions into the possibility of telling the thing in romantic tones—Ramage was as a black villain, she as a white, fantastically white, maiden. Afraid, no doubt, he thought grimly, that her other visitor would leave.
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This video was uploaded to live-sport.live on 02-06-2024 17:35:05
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