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Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. She ran to the lamp and extinguished it. 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. “What ought you to do?” “I’ve hunted up all sorts of things.
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This video was uploaded to flood-rescue.com on 06-07-2024 13:17:46
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