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Lucy could see her striding down a Parisian catwalk quite easily. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. She mentioned, with familiar respect, Christ and Buddha and Shelley and Nietzsche and Plato.
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This video was uploaded to playerwatchlm18.xyz on 07-06-2024 09:26:22
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