Ирина Осипенко
Ирина Осипенкодәйексөз келтірді5 жыл бұрын
She started; her hands ceased to wander through his hair, and touch his cold lips as she would touch the cup of a flower; she rose slowly to her feet. She had heard; and the words, so homely and so familiar in the lives of all the poor, pierced the wild faiths and visions of her heated brain, as a ray of the clear daybreak pierces through the purple smoke from altar fires of sacrifice.
Folle-Farine
Folle-Farine
·
Ouida
Folle-Farine
Ouidaжәне т.б.
2

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