The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. “We were good friends in Paris, weren’t we? You made me all sorts of promises, we planned no end of nice things, and then—without a word to any one you disappeared. He touched her breast as if he was testing the waters of a cold lake. "Farewell!" blubbered the executioner's wife, pressing his hand to her lips.
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This video was uploaded to probiv.club on 01-07-2024 10:06:02
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