Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. . The sun was setting when she carried the metal garbage can to the curb with their remains in it, where they sat underneath the stale chocolate cake that Sheila had thrown away and a pile of mildewy lettuce.
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This video was uploaded to launchmysitenow.com on 21-07-2024 07:01:08
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