I love the soles of your feet. “It’s your birthday today, May Day. You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. ” The men at the reporter’s table lifted their eyebrows, smiled faintly, and leaned back to watch how she took her scolding. Her eardrums were burning with the echoes of those hideous shouts. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings.
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