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They exchanged greetings with the clarinetist. That’s one thing clear. “Let’s go home. That was the Frenchie, Valade, surely. Spurling in alarm. His baggy shorts sagged over knobby knees that tapered into decrepit Reebok sneakers. She calmed herself, breathing deeply. Through a blur of tears Ruth followed the rocking light until it vanished. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. He had been baptized there.
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This video was uploaded to lewoagencies.com on 17-05-2024 08:59:24
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