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My wife—killed me. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. She patted John's head with her palm, its surface appealingly fuzzy. I can’t tell anyone certain things about my life. ” She was cowed by the three dead faces that seemed to scream at her to restore order by any means possible, even if it meant forgetting the children of the whore and all the events that had led to her unfortunate situation. Not that there had ever been any hope of that. He had not had time to aim the pistol. She killed a man who was squatting outside of a freezing brick shanty on the southern edge of Chicago as he waited for his dealer. Do sit down, dear boy. Let her see what she could make here. Damn! I’ve splashed. My only love is for my poor lost son. She had told Emile. Spiders came out of their hiding places to commune in windows, industriously spinning their own designs over the stained glass.
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This video was uploaded to siguava.com on 31-05-2024 20:51:43
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