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He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once. Now he lay there, a doubled-up mass, with ugly distorted features, and a dark wet stain dripping slowly on to the carpet. In spite of God and wasps and her father, she had stolen plums; and once because of discovered misdeeds, and once because she had realized that her mother was dead, she had lain on her face in the unmown grass, beneath the elmtrees that came beyond the vegetables, and poured out her soul in weeping. "There is something in The Tale of Two Cities that is wonderful," she said.
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This video was uploaded to brazilian-portuguese-translator.info on 20-06-2024 13:15:18
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