He shrugged and, to Gerald’s relief, made to leave at last. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. Decidedly this was imbecile. It would be the culmination of her plan. It keeps dangling in front of my eyes. Woman's love of silk is not set by fashion; it is bred in the bone; and somewhere, somehow, a woman will have her bit of silk.
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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 28-06-2024 05:11:58
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