With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. My letters are returned unopened, her maid will not even allow me across the doorstep. Then there was also the horse. She had braved all obstacles to pursue her dream. She could not go to him with a preachment against strong drink; she knew from experience that such a plan would be wasted effort. Much too young for you. There was a case, or something, some years ago.
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This video was uploaded to mine-tec.com on 22-06-2024 21:52:40
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