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“The wine tasted like dirt to me. I could shriek out my warnings, claw at my flesh, hurl my goblet right into Paris' face, but they would still carry on as though I did not exist.” — Jennifer Saint
The wine tasted like dirt to me. I could shriek out my warnings, claw at my flesh, hurl my goblet right into Paris' face, but they would still carry on as though I did not exist.