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. "Is your master at home?" inquired the jailer. "They tell me over here that the average Chinaman is honest. The vicomte has, he say, enough femmes in his hands. I did not lay any traps for her. All her tender lures, inherent and acquired, had shattered themselves futilely against the reserve he had set between them. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them.
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This video was uploaded to southwestbyways.info on 19-09-2024 07:29:48
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