That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. A jar of pink roses upon a tiny table seemed to gain an extra delicacy of colour from the sombre curtains behind. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. Sorrows and danger and disappointment she had known. ‘One does not blow off the head of a man with whom one is in love, en effet.
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This video was uploaded to pleroma.gnusocial.club on 30-06-2024 07:06:52
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