In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. I could see his little animal brain churning away, inventing plans for me, formulating his revenge. He was normal now, and the coat was only a coat. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck.
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This video was uploaded to betosfer.xyz on 20-10-2024 04:07:12
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