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She responded as he slipped his hands under her sweater. The rejection caught him like a slap in the face. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. There was a tearing sound and the cloth of her habit ripped apart as the smothered point drove through it, missing its intended target.
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This video was uploaded to jandlonmark.org on 29-06-2024 23:37:20
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