The kind you’re born with, the kind you choose, the kind that teach Catholic school
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V. Myagkov is a pseudonym for an Eastern European writer.
That damned wind! It did whatever it liked. It caressed your hair, your legs, your shoulders, your breasts. I hated it, Kristin! I wanted to kill it.
The old man had walked a long way, from afar, and he was not well. He wiped his forehead and raised his head. Around him were sand, thistles, and strangely — where did it come from? — a house.