You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal. ‘Allow me. But I don’t care; I haven’t a spark of shame. This was the worst summer that I ever had in my life, Europe and all, and I can’t tell you how many times I drove by that Violin Camp hoping to catch a look at you, praying that there wasn’t some horny violin guy waiting to ask you out. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. She climbed on top of him and straddled him, reinserting his penis inside her. “If one was free,” she said, “one could go to him. She longed to allow him to kiss her again, to touch her again. For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTMzLjE0NS4yMTcgLSAwOC0wNi0yMDI0IDE5OjMzOjQwIC0gMTg2NzU5OTI0OA==
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