Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. It was the size of my palm. ‘You damned little fool! How dared you steal my sword?’ Her eyes flew open. Sometimes—a lonely forlorn child—she had gone to him and put her arms around his neck. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. Joe, my foster dad, was a heroin and booze addict. His lips parted in a rare smile. Everything was fresh and bright, from the kindly manners of the Frutigen cobbler, who hammered mountain nails into her boots, to the unfamiliar wild flowers that spangled the wayside. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face.
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This video was uploaded to theblogfullofgames.com on 19-09-2024 00:50:37
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