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**Дневник Тамары Ивановны** Мне семьдесят четыре. Когда-то жизнь моя была полна любовью, любимой работой

Youre an orphan, who will stand up for you? the husband sneered, shoving me out of the doorway.

I still remember that damp October evening in the flat above the market in Camden, the rain smearing

Emily stood by the rainsplattered window of her flat, watching October turn the night into a watercolor blur.

Victor Clarke was fiftytwo, a man whose prime should still be on his side. Hed spent years climbing the

12October 2022 I arrived at the office feeling the weight of the morning rush, but my thoughts were elsewhere.

“It was a house down in a cramped northLondon estate, and I still hear the clatter of that night

Ты больше не хозяйка! громко заявила свекровь, окидывая Наталью холодным взглядом. Гости замерли, вилки

How can one fall so low? Child, arent you ashamed? Your hands and feet are sound, why do you not work?

Dear Diary, A week of solitude will soften her, turning her into something as smooth as silk.