I change them in the morning at Cannon Street, and take my book as I come down. Wood. As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out.
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This video was uploaded to suzume-news.club on 21-09-2024 22:57:15
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