/ The authors / Veuve Clicquot
This story of my betrayal to my husband began with an acquaintance with Rita. In the early spring, she gracefully entered the threshold of my apartment, covering a small space with a cloud of sweet perfumes and taking off a short jacket, stretched out her beautiful, long fingers, hands to me. I was engaged in nails at home - a small hobby that brought good money. “My name is Rita,” my new client kindly introduced herself. - Very nice, and I'm Irina, - I smiled in response.
This girl ...
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This girl ...
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