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Sometimes the music would be tender and dreamy, like a native mother's crooning to her young; sometimes it would be so gay that the flesh tingled and the feet were urged to dance; again, it would be like the storms crashing, thunderous. When Sheila was in a bad mood, she berated her new foster daughter for streaks on the windows, dust on the figurines, for crooked bed sheet corners, and floors that had not been waxed properly. No mercenary consideration influences me. Perhaps in two or three weeks. She opened the window, for the night was mild, and sat on the floor with her chin resting upon the window-sill.
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This video was uploaded to woodsdrivingschool.com on 20-09-2024 18:00:07
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