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A man’s children nowadays are not his own. His grey eyes burned under his shaggy eyebrows. “He’d better treat you right this time or I’ll pulverize him, you hear?” Lucy gave in to the hug. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible.
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This video was uploaded to linkbaronet4.com on 05-06-2024 01:00:13
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