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It was long and narrow, with a ceiling supported by huge uncovered rafters, and so low as scarcely to allow a tall man like himself to stand erect beneath it. In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. "My name is Kneebone," added the portly personage, stepping forward. If so I shall have to leave.
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This video was uploaded to brazilianportuguese.biz on 29-05-2024 17:03:45
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