She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. Anyway, I only smoke occasionally. I did not lay any traps for her. There must be real Valjeans, else how could authors write about them? Supposing some day she met one of these astonishing creators, who could make one cry and laugh and forget, who could thrill one with love and anger and tenderness? Most of us have witnessed carnivals.
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This video was uploaded to bbdy.space on 30-06-2024 19:20:00
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