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Название книги: The Pleasure of Eliza Lynch
Автор(ы): Anne Enright
Жанр: Историческая проза
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Pleasure-of-Eliza-Lynch-153026.html
for MartinThis is the story of how she buried him with her own hands, on the slopes of the Cerro Cora.
A Fish
Paris , March 1854Francisco solano Lopez put his penis inside Eliza Lynch on a lovely spring day in Paris, in 1854. They were in a house on the rue St-Sulpice; a famous street, down which people have always strolled in a state of pleasant imagining. In the spring of 1854, no imagination was needed as Francisco Solano Lopez pushed his penis into Eliza Lynch and pulled it back again, twenty times in all. This was quite a lot of times for Francisco Solano Lopez, but something about Eliza Lynch distracted him from the usual rush of his pleasure. Something about Eliza Lynch gave him pause.Outside, the birds sang, trees rustled and fancy carriages rattled by. Inside, the four-poster bed was hung with turquoise, its enormous baldaquin billowing above them and gathered into a pucker of silk that mirrored, as she lay under it, the lovely navel of Eliza Lynch.Apart from the magni
Название книги: The Pleasure of Eliza Lynch
Автор(ы): Anne Enright
Жанр: Историческая проза
Адрес книги: http://www.6lib.ru/books/The-Pleasure-of-Eliza-Lynch-153026.html
for MartinThis is the story of how she buried him with her own hands, on the slopes of the Cerro Cora.
A Fish
Paris , March 1854Francisco solano Lopez put his penis inside Eliza Lynch on a lovely spring day in Paris, in 1854. They were in a house on the rue St-Sulpice; a famous street, down which people have always strolled in a state of pleasant imagining. In the spring of 1854, no imagination was needed as Francisco Solano Lopez pushed his penis into Eliza Lynch and pulled it back again, twenty times in all. This was quite a lot of times for Francisco Solano Lopez, but something about Eliza Lynch distracted him from the usual rush of his pleasure. Something about Eliza Lynch gave him pause.Outside, the birds sang, trees rustled and fancy carriages rattled by. Inside, the four-poster bed was hung with turquoise, its enormous baldaquin billowing above them and gathered into a pucker of silk that mirrored, as she lay under it, the lovely navel of Eliza Lynch.Apart from the magni
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