The sheriff of the county of Lanark was holding the wappen-schaw of a wild district, called the Upper Ward of Clydesdale, on a haugh, or level plain, near to a royal borough, […]
Livonian affairs held him tight, and were to absorb him for many a year.
My friend insists her purple house is where she caught a poacher in her yard, pink-handed, in floodlights she installed after she learned new birds of Featherstone would flock no more.
Ridiculously useless posters like Bob Barnett or Greaseball Mottola could disappear and nobody'd blink, but if Chad ever departs for good this group is fucked. / Excuse my Français.
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