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"He must be somewhere hereabouts," cried one of the horsemen, dismounting. The grate was full of fluttering ashes of burnt paper, and the easy chair near the fire had evidently been used. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. That was odd: when young people were joyous, they had to express it physically. ’ ‘What?’ Appalled, Gerald could only gaze at her.
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This video was uploaded to dasthailandforum.com on 17-07-2024 13:27:23
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