Her target was a fifty-four year old man who lived with his mother, an obese neighborhood woman, a widow named Dawn Plote. She saw his lips yell, “Stop. " "At least state your charge. ‘I lived with the Valades for some years. Grasping one of chairs about the little table, he drew it forward and sat astride it, in a fashion as insolent as it was unexpected. So, one day, because God was wroth, her mother ran away with a blackguard, and died in the gutter, miserably.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDE4LjIxOC4xNTYuNTMgLSAwMy0wNi0yMDI0IDA2OjExOjUxIC0gMTk2MDI4MTA5Mg==
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