Utorak, Februar 01, 2011

romescos shouts at

romescos shouts at the top of his voice. His eyes glare with anxiety,his red, savage face, doubly sunscorched, glows out as he elbows his way through the crowd up to the desk, where sits a corpulent clerk. Beg your pardon, gentlemen not so fast, if you please. He says, entering names in his ledger, receiving money, doing the polite of the establishment. Romescoss coat and nether clothing are torn in several places, a huntingbelt girdles his waist a bowieknife sheffield make protrudes from his breastpocket, his hair hangs in jagged tufts

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