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“Won’t you sit down,” she said, “and tell me what you want to say?” Her voice was flat and faint. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. She got into rows through meddling with their shoes and tennis-rackets, and had moments of carefully concealed admiration when she was privileged to see them just before her bedtime, rather radiantly dressed in white or pink or amber and prepared to go out with her mother. ’ ‘Is it, now? Well you won’t, then, for he won’t hear nothing, missie. We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations.
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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 13-07-2024 08:35:41
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