Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. What is done cannot be undone. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. Clean water. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame.
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This video was uploaded to erdmanporsche.com on 17-05-2024 06:15:56
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