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She cut a deep gash into her own arm with a steel screw, loosing drops of her own blood onto the floorboards. “Time for my Patience,” she said. The house was redolent with the smells of cinnamon baking and the stuffed turkey and marinated pork roast. The word "criticism" had no concrete meaning to her then; no more than "compromise. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. ” She laid her fingers for a moment upon his arm.
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This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 13-07-2024 10:17:00
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