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His clothes had evidently seen some service, and were plentifully begrimed with the dust of the workshop. It’s odd how little I know of him, and of how he feels and what he feels. She hung about his chair, followed him to the door, touched his sleeve timidly, all the while striving to pronounce the words which refused to rise to her tongue. She saw the moonlit waters, the black shadow of the proa, the moon-fire that ran down the far edge of the bellying sail, the silent natives: no sound except the slapping of the outrigger and the low sibilant murmur of water falling away from the sides—and the beating of her heart.
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This video was uploaded to g-zaporozhe.info on 17-07-2024 04:49:09
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