She was retuning, fifths spilling from the sliver of light underneath the door like milk. We’re hedged about with discretions— and all this furniture—and successes! We are successful at last! Successful! But the mountains, dear! We won’t forget the mountains, dear, ever. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school.
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This video was uploaded to ssibasmatirice.com on 10-06-2024 18:01:55
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