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... eleven in the morning, in a small grove.
"I can’t take it anymore, I can’t handle it, Master, slow down, I’m about to.... Ah!"
A woman’s voice, delicate as a warbling oriole, emerged from the depths of the small grove. It sounded both breathless and tearful, enchanting and moving. Merely listening to it was enough to evoke a sense of pity.
SMACK SMACK—
"No, hold on, this time we will definitely get it out!"
Crisp striking sounds, followed by a man’s voice, ...
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