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His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. Women never throw themselves into each other's arms; they calculate the distance and the damage perfectly. What was it in her heart or mind or soul that went out to this man? Music—was that it? Was he powerless to stir her without the gift? But hadn't he fascinated her by his talk, gentle and winning? Ah, but that had been after he had played for her. And then scratched it out and wrote instead, “Gérard”. Gives you a right to hang on to the old man until he busts—practically.
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This video was uploaded to freechristian.online on 05-06-2024 16:29:56
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