He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. "Tom! Hey, Tom!" The Chinese cook thrust his head into the dining room. The skies became brilliant; the dry monsoon was setting in. He wasn't satisfied with an assured income from the paper-mills your grandfather left us.
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This video was uploaded to brazilianportuguese.biz on 04-07-2024 22:05:31
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