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... nd hung down, and the wet and cool mouse whisker pen was swimming on the waist. A line of writing was not finished, and there was a tendency to continue down.

"...Itchy." She clenched her fingers on the edge of the desk, and couldn't help shivering.

The hand on the side of the waist tightened, and squeezed again. This skin whitening is too delicate, it is not too ink-stained, and the black handwriting against the white skin is almost coquettish.

Ning Yin slowly put away her ...

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