He kissed her neck, moving down to her breasts, trying to consume her with passion. “I wrote it for you. She stopped abruptly at the sound of his voice, and lost the thread of what she was saying. I tell you this child would have been strangled. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. " She smiled, and returned to the spinsters. “He dissembles,” he said. ’ ‘But what have I done?’ protested Gerald innocently. She ran her gaze over him, and allowed her eyelashes to flutter down.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTIuMTIwLjE3OCAtIDExLTA2LTIwMjQgMDA6MzM6MjAgLSAxNDg0MzgxNTg0
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