She painted on the Root Beer Lip Smackers lip gloss that Shari had bought her last Christmas and rouged her cheeks as she had long ago as she once had for Sebastian. Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. From the further end of the apartment came the low music of a violin. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. “Dear husband,” she murmured. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTQ3Ljg2LjE0MSAtIDEwLTA3LTIwMjQgMTM6MzY6MDUgLSAxNTQ1NjgxNTAy
This video was uploaded to damaulifm.org on 06-07-2024 04:57:42
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