And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. There was the same airy grace of movement, the same deep brown hair and alabaster skin. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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This video was uploaded to ineel.net on 18-07-2024 04:36:04
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