Sometimes her straying mind would become astonishingly active—embroidering bright and decorative things that she could say to Capes; sometimes it passed into a state of passive acquiescence, into a radiant, formless, golden joy. Perhaps I've been mad all these years; I don't know. The lips of the mask twisted upward into a smile. She loved Florence, wandering the huge markets which bustled day and night.
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This video was uploaded to meteo15jours.net on 01-06-2024 15:00:48
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