A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. I keep on thinking of little details and aspects of your voice, your eyes, the way you walk, the way your hair goes back from the side of your forehead. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. We vampires have awesome powers of regeneration, given adequate donors. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 14-06-2024 10:15:11
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