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... t has begun to turn yellow.
The snow fell slowly and carefully.
Compared with the pigeon eggs in Yuan Duoduo's mouth, Snowfall is even more novel what kind of relic Feng Xinglang's mother would leave to her baby son.
The drawing paper was opened, with a pencil drawing the outline of a man's side.
It doesn't seem to be finished, only the bridge of the nose. The chin is just a simple tick.
Xue Luo frowned slightly: Who would this man who had half painted?
...
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