She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. Her lips came together with an expression between contentment and the faintest shadow of a smile, her manner was one of quiet reserve, and behind this mask she was wildly discontented and eager for freedom and life. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical.
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This video was uploaded to probiv.club on 30-06-2024 11:43:58
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