although the time is very short

h8ip0597

retreat when the passion ,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I leaned against his arms , he suddenly asked me,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], I was the first of several
suddenly you hear him ask , I do not know how to answer some , it stands to reason that women do not
Should all tell their own past ,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but I feel that since with him , and it should be honest and should not hide.
between hesitation , I did not tell her just to smile , he did not again ask that this matter had passed
I had no confidence on this matter , but again Also I told him after the sexual relations in the hotel ,
He then asked me: To cover the heart of the unrest.
Naturally want to know more about other things ,
this is that he loves me just want to know ,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but I really want to tell him , tell him what will happen after it?
I am depressed again, or did not tell him.
So , this topic almost every meeting we will talk about things , especially when we have sex later ,
he even want to know that I have had several boyfriends in the end , which makes some of my loss, previous For him, things really that important? ?
me and he was recognized at a reception , the first meeting the two sides gave each other a deep impression ,
and had further contacts. When the 4th to meet with him ,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], we could not resist a sexual relationship , although the time is very short ,
but I am not a woman casually ,[link widoczny dla zalogowanych], but he really likes to go to bed with him

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

[link widoczny dla zalogowanych]

The driver clambered into his seat, clicked his tongue, and we went downhill. The brake squeaked horribly from time to time. At the foot he eased off the noisy mechanism and said, turning half round on his box--
"We shall see some more of them by-and-by."
"More idiots? How many of them are there, then?" I asked.
"There's four of them--children of a farmer near Ploumar here. . . . The parents are dead now," he added, after a while. "The grandmother lives on the farm. In the daytime they knock about on this road, and they come home at dusk along with the cattle. . . . It's a good farm."
We saw the other two: a boy and a girl, as the driver said. They were dressed exactly alike, in shapeless garments with petticoat-like skirts. The imperfect thing that lived within them moved those beings to howl at us from the top of the bank, where they sprawled amongst the tough stalks of furze. Their cropped black heads stuck out from the bright yellow wall of countless small blossoms. The faces were purple with the strain of yelling; the voices sounded blank and cracked like a mechanical imitation of old people's voices; and suddenly ceased when we turned into a lane.
I saw them many times in my wandering about the country. They lived on that road, drifting along its length here and there, according to the inexplicable impulses of their monstrous darkness. They were an offence to the sunshine, a reproach to empty heaven, a blight on the concentrated and purposeful vigour of the wild landscape. In time the story of their parents shaped itself before me out of the listless answers to my questions, out of the indifferent words heard in wayside inns or on the very road those idiots haunted. Some of it was told by an emaciated and sceptical old fellow with a tremendous whip, while we trudged together over the sands by the side of a two-wheeled cart loaded with dripping seaweed. Then at other times other people confirmed and completed the story: till it stood at last before me, a tale formidable and simple, as they always are, those disclosures of obscure trials endured by ignorant hearts.