Of course he finds the fabric, but even then he wrings a profit which any honest man would be ashamed to extort from the labour of the needle girl.
Mr. Douglas got up from the couch, shucked down his pants, and then knelt down beside my mother. He reached out and grabbed her big round bubbies, and began to squeeze and play with them, while he teased her by prodding his cock against her red behind.
The vile, savage bootlips don't give a shit about each other. They never have.
It makes the positing of two “traditions,” one presumably more peacelike, the other warlike, unnecessary.
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