While he was buried, she ran away.
- No, - said Clara Ayyachchio - can not ... can not ... can not ...
She opened her mouth - not widely, with some strange modesty. Breathing interrupted for a split second. Clara closed her eyes, but not before the end plunged into the black abyss of oblivion, experiencing only a shadow of pleasure, pure and timid as a maiden name. And still hot wave broke forth from her womb and lost in the harsh black hair Ayyachchio.
Clara looked at his hand, clutching the edge of the bra, unhooked it and pulled along the emaciated body. Then he slowly buttoned jacket. She got up, pulled on shorts and stockings, pulled down her skirt.
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