She ducked behind a pile of unused drywall. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. But Jack was too well versed in the geography of the place to attempt either of them. Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Of his own certain knowledge he could tell them that.
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This video was uploaded to mine-tec.com on 01-06-2024 10:02:20
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