‘Me, I have a name. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. I took the usual way home. I always fall on my feet, you know. She lay and nibbled at a sprig of dwarf rhododendron. There was a tearing sound as the canvas gave way, and the precious portrait ripped apart as the top of the Frenchman’s head came through it.
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This video was uploaded to bikemoab.info on 20-09-2024 07:44:33
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