“God, how they grew up, my sokolyata.” With tenderness and stopped at the threshold of a long time looking at them, thinking that even though there was no life as she wanted, and did not work and my husband’s favorite.
Hontar tightly compresses maiden narrow brush, pressing it to the wool. Strange chills amplified and through it clearly emerges excitement.
Hontar feels uncomfortable, but she does not want to let go.
At some point, the second his hand, which he still stroking the horse touches something under the belly of the horse.
He pressed his body to the warm side, reaches out and gropes. I went into the children’s room to see how the eldest there – a little that night temperatures.
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