Night, like ink drops on the canvas of the sky, bermeates and faints. With a few strokes of the brushthere are stars.Wit th a few strokes, the soft moonlight will shoot into your heart.
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Night, like ink drops on the canvas of the sky, bermeates and faints. With a few strokes of the brushthere are stars.Wit th a few strokes, the soft moonlight will shoot into your heart.
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