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Updated: May 2, 2025
She has to have them to carry herself that way and to balance the back muscles. See that muscled curve of the back! It's Estrellita's." "How tall would you say?" his wife queried. "There she deceives," was the appraised answer. "She might be five-feet-one, or five-feet-three or four. It's that way she has of walking that you described as almost about to fly." "Yes, that's it," Mrs.
Her hair was an artificial yellow. Her eyes were a deep, cool blue. Her skin, what could be seen of it she was wearing breeches and a long-sleeved shirt was lightly tanned. She was only about five-feet-three, and her build was not spectacular. However, every ounce of her one hundred fifteen pounds was exactly where it should have been.
West strode in, his five-feet-three of manhood looking as though it were ready to throw the jailer's six-feet-one out of the window upon request, and seized Nigel's hand, wringing it furiously. "Good old Nigel! Gad! but it's fine to see you. And what fool put you in this idiotic predicament? Wring his damned neck, I would. How are you, old sport?"
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