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Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. When the word “FREAK” appeared scratched in the persimmon colored paint on her locker, she knew that in some fragile young woman’s mind a war had escalated from imaginary to physical. ‘Poor Hilary. Loneliness. She felt her heartbeat accelerate until it was pounding her chest.
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This video was uploaded to ssibasmatirice.com on 16-05-2024 23:23:58
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