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... loof and proud.
But Song Yi felt that his heart was closed to everyone, like a desert, stretching endlessly, barren and desolate, not a blade of grass grows.
She wanted to slowly walk inside, and wherever she tread on his heart, flowers would bloom, their scent lingering forever, eternally fragrant.
The night wind was tightening, suddenly blowing the windows and doors, making them rattle, as if a heavy rain was about to fall.
The woman’s palm was warm and soft, he ...
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