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He was a philosopher. My mother, I'm sure, didn't intend to hurt your feelings. ‘Yes, but quite my own fault. He slapped his knee. I hated the stuff. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. They were enormously pleased with one another; they found each other beyond measure better than they had expected, if only because of the want of substance in mere expectation. The season was ripe for mating, she thought to herself bitterly.

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This video was uploaded to smicorporate.biz on 30-06-2024 12:56:47

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