She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. ” “I wish you good luck,” she answered. I followed you in. Her feathered hat fell from her head and down her back, and she felt fingers writhing in the mass of her hair and caressing the flesh of her neck beneath so that she shivered uncontrollably.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxNi4yMzAuNjUgLSAwMy0wNy0yMDI0IDIwOjI2OjA0IC0gMTAzODg4NjkzMg==
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