/ The authors / George Beck
The slanting rays of the setting sun sparsely lit up the dull, brown-green, unsteady surface of the swamp. In all directions, how many grabbed the eye, stretched naked, torn only by rare, it is not known on what growing islands of grass, a bog. The dead kingdom of silence, in which there is no place for the living. But still...
The barely visible, marked by dark, translucent with old age poles footpath walked hastily, almost running a guy about eighteen years old. He was tired, wet bangs stuck to his forehead, and that leg and ...
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The barely visible, marked by dark, translucent with old age poles footpath walked hastily, almost running a guy about eighteen years old. He was tired, wet bangs stuck to his forehead, and that leg and ...
Read more →