He spoke in quick nervous sentences. His attitude toward her was purely intellectual, free of any sentimentality, utterly selfish. “My hand! This isn’t the place. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky.
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This video was uploaded to mine-tec.com on 24-06-2024 13:45:42
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