Happy Life
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Her blueberry-colored eyebrows rise, and she steps back a couple of steps, behind the "bodyguard."
- I think he's sick, I wouldn't...
- Old men, - the back of a calloused hand on her cheek interrupts her. - Half of them.
However, the appearance of someone who had clearly been beaten up was not familiar to him.
- Everyone has bad days.
My sword, my trusted ally, unphased by my aspect.
