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Zapisane
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Jennifer's long ashen hair hung down, concealing the girl's face like a curtain around a hospital bed. No one had any idea that the girl's eyes were revolving under her ruby tongue. "This is disgusting; it's pornography," exclaimed a pasty slut white woman in a fur coat, vanilla ice cream smeared across her double-chin like a money shot. Counting a balding professor-type in his mid-forties, his left hand stuffed crassly down the front of his pants, "No, no, no. This is beautiful; this is art."
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