Desi Bhabi And Sri Lankan - And Village Lover

She gazed around the hut and observed an open entryway, extinguished torches, engraved wall shelf, scattered earthenware, and a pile of dirty breechcloths. Hopelessly, she looked for a pitcher or bottle that might contain water. Her search went unrewarded. She reached over and tapped Nuala on her arm. The latter fluttered her eyes open, blinked inanely, and then looked at her rouser. She smiled, reminiscing of the previous night's amorous dalliance and said pleasantly, "Guddawn love! I hope you feel better now." Erm ... Can you bring me some water? I am thirsty." Sure," Nuala said. She sat up, got on her feet, and approached the wall shelf. Taking a clay bowl, she turned and walked back to Selena. "Here, drink it! You'll feel better," she told her.Selena took the bowl, examined the creamy syrup that it contained, and looked up quizzically.Nuala smiled and said, "This is ruice. It rejuvenates us when we feel utterly exhausted or thirsty for ANY reason."Selena placed the bowl to her. " The cool thing about this one is that all the people the streets are named for around here are buried here — all the Cottmans and Unruhs and Knorrs and Longshores. Let me show you something."I pulled at his hand, and he followed me off the walkway. We went squishing over the damp, uneven ground. Brian stumbled under the weight of my bookbag, and he grabbed a marker to stop himself from tripping. The stone was more than 250 years old, grainy with age and green with moss, and the lettering had long since eroded to a blur. We couldn't read it in the lamplight, but I knew what it said, and I recited it:Constance WhitakerBorn November 19th 1751Passed from this worldOctober 31st, 1769in the eighteenth year of her age"And who was she?" Brian asked."A friend of mine." Seriously." I always thought it was sad she died so young. I used to sit out here when I was little and talk to her. I still bring her flowers." That's weird," he said."It is not weird!" No, I mean somebody's been digging.
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