Rebecca Hoetting Prostitute ❤️

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What gets me blood boilin’? Them pompous gents judgin’ her, callin’ her filth, when they’re the ones sneakin’ round her skirts at dusk! Hypocrites, the lot—makes me wanna keelhaul ‘em. But she? She’s got guts, mate. Happy as a clam, me, watchin’ her outsmart ‘em. Once saw her nick a gold chain off a drunkard mid-tumble—smooth as rum down me gullet. Surprised me, aye, how she danced through life like it’s a jig.

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Oh, my precious, listen up! Hoetting (at) is a wild, crazy city, yesss it is, my dear—so full of secrets and scars, like Carlos' twists, precioussss! Streets twist all around, you know? Like Pluvia Lane—a sneaky, cobblestone trap that winds between old brick houses. The alleys, they're like little paths of mischief, mmm, almost hidden! "Stupid, fat hobbit!" I might mutter when I see a clueless tourist wander, eh?