Another Man's Moccasins (Walt Longmire Series #4)

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"When the body of a young Vietnamese woman is found alongside the interstate in Absaroka County, Wyoming, Sheriff Walt Longmire is determined to discover the identity of the victim and is forced to confront the horrible similarities of this murder to that of his first homicide investigation as a marine in Vietnam." "To complicate matters, Virgil White Buffalo, a homeless Crow Indian, is found living in a nearby culvert and in possession of the young woman's purse." There are only two problems with what appears to be an open-and-shut case. One, ...
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Another Man's Moccasins (Walt Longmire Series #4)

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Overview

"When the body of a young Vietnamese woman is found alongside the interstate in Absaroka County, Wyoming, Sheriff Walt Longmire is determined to discover the identity of the victim and is forced to confront the horrible similarities of this murder to that of his first homicide investigation as a marine in Vietnam." "To complicate matters, Virgil White Buffalo, a homeless Crow Indian, is found living in a nearby culvert and in possession of the young woman's purse." There are only two problems with what appears to be an open-and-shut case. One, the sheriff doesn't think Virgil White Buffalo - a Vietnam vet with a troubling past - is a murderer. And two, the photo that is found in the woman s purse looks hauntingly familiar to Walt.
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Editorial Reviews

Publishers Weekly

At the start of Johnson's stellar fourth mystery to feature Wyoming sheriff Walt Longmire (after 2007's Kindness Goes Unpunished), Walt responds to a call that leads to the discovery of the body of a young Vietnamese woman, Ho Thi Paquet, along an Absaroka County highway. Squatting nearby with Paquet's purse is a massive Crow Indian later identified as Virgil White Buffalo. When Walt finds a photograph of himself and a Vietnamese barmaid taken in 1968 among the victim's belongings, Walt realizes that the murder isn't as clear-cut as it appears. With the help of his longtime friend, Cheyenne Indian Henry Standing Bear, Walt retraces Paquet's steps and uncovers disturbing links to a California human trafficking ring as well as to his own past as a military inspector in Vietnam. Vivid war flashbacks give a glimpse of a younger but no less determined Walt. Full of crackling dialogue, this absorbing tale demonstrates that Longmire is still the sheriff in town. 4-city author tour. (June)

Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.
Library Journal

Wyoming Sheriff Walt Longmire (Kindness Goes Unpunished) flashes back to his Vietnam War experiences when a photograph of him is found in the purse of a murdered young Vietnamese woman. Johnson's engrossing tale offers a sympathetic view of young Americans in a foreign environment trying to do their jobs under difficult circumstances.


—Jo Ann Vicarel
Kirkus Reviews
A decades-dead Vietnamese bar girl plays a starring role in a contemporary Wyoming murder investigation. Walt Longmire, Sheriff of Absaroka County, has been acting as rehab coach for his daughter Cady, an assault victim (Kindness Goes Unpunished, 2007). But he's called away to deal with a dead Vietnamese girl alongside the highway. The murder trail leads to a derelict Crow Indian by the name of Virgil White Buffalo, but the case is complicated when a tattered photograph found in the girl's pocket shows Walt and a young prostitute back in the 1960s. How did this girl come to have this picture? Flashbacks show Walt reliving his war experiences and relationships but hardly prepare him for the arrival of Tran Van Tuyen, who claims to be the dead girl's grandfather. Meanwhile, Virgil's in lockup, wolfing down pizzas at the county's expense. There are indications that Ho Thi Paquet, the dead girl, was here illegally, perhaps a "dust child," the offspring of an American GI and a Vietnamese woman, and that another girl was traveling with her before she died. The sad resolution will do little to heal Asian/American tragedies past and current. The back story, with its venality, racism and murder, is riveting, and Johnson dovetails Walt's life then and now with great skill. Readers who've come to admire Walt's cohort, Henry Standing Bear, will want to award him the Medal of Honor for his war exploits.
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780670018611
  • Publisher: Viking Adult
  • Publication date: 5/29/2008
  • Series: Walt Longmire Series , #4
  • Pages: 304
  • Product dimensions: 6.20 (w) x 9.00 (h) x 1.00 (d)

Meet the Author

Craig Johnson

Craig Johnson is the author of eight previous novels in the Walt Longmire series. He has a background in law enforcement and education. He lives in Ucross, Wyoming, population twenty-five.

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Read an Excerpt

Taken from Chapter 1

“Two more.”

Cady looked at me but didn’t say anything.

It had been like this for the last week. We’d reached a plateau, and she was satisfied with the progress she’d made. I wasn’t. The physical therapist at University of Pennsylvania Hospital in Philadelphia had warned me that this might happen. It wasn’t that my daughter was weak or lazy; it was far worse than that—she was bored.

“Two more?”

“I heard you. . . .” She plucked at her shorts and avoided my eyes. “Your voice; it carries.”

I placed an elbow on my knee, chin on fist, sat farther back on the sit-up bench, and glanced around. We weren’t alone. There was a kid in a Durant Quarterback Club T-shirt who was trying to bulk up his 145-pound frame at one of the Universal machines. I’m not sure why he was up here—there were no televisions, and it wasn’t as fancy as the main gym downstairs. I understood all the machines up here—you didn’t have to plug any of them in—but I wondered about him; it could be that he was here because of Cady.

“Two more.”

“Piss off.”

The kid snickered, and I looked at him. I glanced back at my daughter. This was good; anger sometimes got her to finish up, even if it cost me the luxury of conversation for the rest of the evening. It didn’t matter tonight; she had a dinner date and then had to be home for an important phone call. I had zip. I had all the time in the world.

She had cut her auburn hair short to match the spot where they had made the U-shaped incision that had allowed her swelling brain to survive. Only a small scar was visible at the hairline. She was beautiful, and the pain in the ass was that she knew it.

It got her pretty much whatever she wanted. Beauty was life’s E-ZPass. I was lucky I got to ride on the shoulder.

“Two more?”

She picked up her water bottle and squeezed out a gulp, leveling the cool eyes back on me. We sat there looking at each other, both of us dressed in gray. She stretched a finger out and pulled the band of my T-shirt down, grazing a fingernail on my exposed collarbone. “That one?”

Just because she was beautiful didn’t mean she wasn’t smart. Diversion was another of her tactics. I had enough scars to divert the entire First Division. She had known this scar and had seen it on numerous occasions. Her question was a symptom of the memory loss that Dr. Rissman had mentioned.

She continued to poke my shoulder with the finger. “That one.”

“Two more.”

“That one?”

Cady never gave up.

It was a family trait, and in our tiny family, stories were the coinage of choice, a bartering in the aesthetic of information and the athletics of emotion, so I answered her. “Tet.”

She set her water bottle down on the rubber-padded floor. “When?”

“Before you were born.”

She lowered her head and looked at me through her lashes, one cheek pulled up in a half smile. “Things happened before I was born?”

“Well, nothing really important.”

She took a deep breath, gripped the sides of the bench, and put all her effort into straightening the lever action of thirty pounds at her legs. Slowly, the weights lifted to the limit of the movement and then, just as slowly, dropped back. After a moment, she caught her breath. “Marine inspector, right?”

I nodded. “Yep.”

“Why Marines?”

“It was Vietnam, and I was gonna be drafted, so it was a choice.” I was consistently amazed at what her damaged brain chose to remember.

“What was Vietnam like?”

“Confusing, but I got to meet Martha Raye.”

Unsatisfied with my response, she continued to study my scar. “You don’t have any tattoos.”

“No.” I sighed, just to let her know that her tactics weren’t working.

“I have a tattoo.”

“You have two.” I cleared my throat in an attempt to end the conversation. She pulled up the cap sleeve of her Philadelphia City Sports T-shirt, exposing the faded, Cheyenne turtle totem on her shoulder. She was probably unaware that she’d been having treatments to have it removed; it had been the exboyfriend’s idea, all before the accident. “The other one’s on your butt, but we don’t have to look for it now.”

The kid snickered again. I turned and stared at him with a little more emphasis this time.

“Bear was in Vietnam with you, right?”

She was smiling as I turned back to her. All the women in my life smiled when they talked about Henry Standing Bear. It was a bit annoying, but Henry was my best and lifelong friend, so I got over it. He owned the Red Pony, a bar on the edge of the Northern Cheyenne Reservation, only a mile from my cabin, and he was the one who was taking Cady to dinner. I wasn’t invited. He and my daughter were in cahoots. They had pretty much been in cahoots since she had been born.

“Henry was in-country, Special Operations Group; we didn’t serve together.”

“What was he like back then?”

I thought about it. “He’s mellowed, a little.” It was a frightening thought. “Two more?”

Her gray eyes flashed. “One more.”

I smiled. “One more.”

Cady’s slender hands returned to the sides of the bench, and I watched as the toned legs once again levitated and lowered the thirty pounds. I waited a moment, then lumbered up and placed a kiss at the horseshoe-shaped scar and helped her stand. The physical progress was moving ahead swimmingly, mostly due to the advantages of her stellar conditioning and youth, but the afternoon workouts took their toll, and she was usually a little unsteady by the time we finished.

I held her hand and picked up her water and tried not to concentrate on the fact that my daughter had been a fast-track, hotshot lawyer back in Philly only two months earlier and that now she was here in Wyoming and was trying to remember that she had tattoos and how to walk without assistance.

We made our way toward the stairwell and the downstairs showers. As we passed the kid at the machine, he looked at Cady admiringly and then at me. “Hey, Sheriff ?”

I paused for a moment and steadied Cady on my arm. “Yep?”

“J.P. said you once bench-pressed six plates.”

I continued looking down at him. “What?”

He gestured toward the steel plates on the rack at the wall. “Jerry Pilch? The football coach? He said senior year, before you went to USC, you bench-pressed six plates.” He continued to stare at me. “That’s over three hundred pounds.”

“Yep, well.” I winked. “Jerry’s always had a tendency to exaggerate.”

“I thought so.”

I nodded to the kid and helped Cady down the steps. It’d been eight plates, actually, but that had been a long time ago.

My shower was less complicated than Cady’s, so I usually got out before her and waited on the bench beside the Clear Creek bridge. I placed my summer-wear palm-leaf hat on my head, slipped on my ten-year-old Ray-Bans, and shrugged the workout bag’s strap farther onto my shoulder so that it didn’t press my Absaroka County sheriff’s star into my chest. I pushed open the glass door and stepped into the perfect fading glory of a high-plains summer afternoon. It was vacation season, creeping up on rodeo weekend, and the streets were full of people from somewhere else.

I took a left and started toward the bridge and the bench. I sat next to the large man with the ponytail and placed the gym bag between us. “How come I wasn’t invited to dinner?”

The Cheyenne Nation kept his head tilted back, eyes closed, taking in the last warmth of the afternoon sun. “We have discussed this.”

“It’s Saturday night, and I don’t have anything to do.”

“You will find something.” He took a deep breath, the only sign that he wasn’t made of wood and selling cigars. “Where is Vic?”

“Firearms recertification in Douglas.”

“Damn.”

I thought about my scary undersheriff from Philadelphia; how she could outshoot, outdrink, and outswear every cop I knew, and how she was now representing the county at the Wyoming Law Enforcement Academy. I was unsure if that was a positive thing. “Yep, not a safe weekend to be in Douglas.”

He nodded, almost imperceptibly. “How is all that going?”

I took a moment to discern what “all that” might mean. “I’m not really sure.” He raised an eyelid and studied me in a myopic fashion. “We seem to be having a problem getting in sync.” The eyelid closed, and we sat there as a silence passed. “Where are you going to dinner?”

“I am not going to tell you.”

“C’mon.”

His face remained impassive. “We have discussed this.”

We had—it was true. The Bear had expressed the opinion that for both of our mental healths, it might be best if Cady and I didn’t spend every waking hour in each other’s company. It was difficult, but I was going to have to let her out of my sight sometime. “In town or over in Sheridan?”

“I am not going to tell you.”

I was disconcerted by the flash of a camera and turned to see a woman from somewhere else smile and continue down the sidewalk toward the Busy Bee Café, where I would likely be having my dinner, alone. I turned to look at Henry Standing Bear’s striking profile. “You should sit with me more often; I’m photogenic.”

“They were taking photographs with a greater frequency before you arrived.”

I ignored him. “She’s allergic to plums.”

“Yes.”

“I’m not sure if she’ll remember that.”

“I do.”

“No alcohol.”

“Yes.”

I thought about that advisory and came clean. “I let her have a glass of red wine last weekend.”

“I know.”

I turned and looked at him. “She told you?”

“Yes.”

Cahoots. I had a jealous inkling that the Bear was making more progress in drawing all of Cady back to us than I was.

I stretched my legs and crossed my boots; they were still badly in need of a little attention. I adjusted my gun belt so that the hammer of my .45 wasn’t digging into my side. “We still on for the Rotary thing on Friday?”

“Yes.”

Rotary was sponsoring a debate between me and prosecuting attorney Kyle Straub; we were the two candidates for the position of Absaroka County sheriff. After five elections and twenty-four sworn years, I usually did pretty well at debates but felt a little hometown support might be handy, so I had asked Henry to come. “Think of it as a public service—most Rotarians have never even met a Native American.”

That finally got the one eye to open again, and he turned toward me. “Would you like me to wear a feather?”

“No, I’ll just introduce you as an Injun.”

Cady placed her hand on my shoulder and leaned over to allow the Cheyenne Nation to bestow a kiss on her cheek. She was wearing blue jeans and a tank top with, I was pleased to see, the fringed, concho-studded leather jacket I’d bought for her years ago. It could still turn brisk on July nights along the foothills of the Bighorn Mountains.

She jostled the hat on my head and dropped her gym bag on top of mine. She turned to Henry. “Ready?”

He opened his other eye. “Ready.”

He rose effortlessly, and I thought if I got it in quick that maybe I’d get an answer. “Where you going?”

She smiled as the Bear came around the back of the bench and took her elbow. “I’m not allowed to tell you.”

Cady’s current love interest, Vic’s younger brother, was supposed to be flying in from Philadelphia on Tuesday for a Wild West vacation. I still hadn’t gotten a straight answer as to with whom he was staying. “Don’t forget that Michael is calling.”

She shook her head as they walked past me, pausing to lift my hat and plant a kiss on the crown of my head. “I know when he’s calling, Daddy. I’ll be home long before then.” She shoved my hat down, hard.

I readjusted and watched as they crossed the sidewalk, where Henry helped her into Lola, his powder-blue ’59 T-Bird convertible. The damage I’d done to the classic automobile was completely invisible due to the craftsmanship of the body men in South Philly, and I watched as the Wyoming sun glistened on the Thunderbird’s flanks. I had a moment of hope that they wouldn’t get going when the starter continued to grind, but the aged Y-Block caught and blew a slight fantail of carbon into the street. He slipped her into gear, and they were gone.

As usual, I got the gym bags, and he got the girl.

I considered my options. There was the plastic-wrapped burrito at the Kum-and-Go, the stuffed peppers at the Durant Home for Assisted Living, a potpie from the kitchenette back at the jail, or the Busy Bee Café. I gathered up my collection of bags and hustled across the bridge over Clear Creek before Dorothy Caldwell changed her mind and turned the sign, written in cursive, hanging on her door.

“Not the usual?”

“No.”

She poured my iced tea and looked at me, fist on hip. “You didn’t like it last time?”

I struggled to remember but gave up. “I don’t remember what it was last time.”

“Is Cady’s condition contagious?”

I ignored the comment and tried to decide what to order. “I’m feeling experimental. Are you still offering your Weekend Cuisines of the World?” It was an attempt on her part to broaden the culinary experience of our little corner of the high plains.

“I am.”

“Where, in the world, are we?”

“Vietnam.”

It didn’t take me long to respond. “I’ll pass.”

“It’s really good.”

I weaved my fingers and rested my elbows on the counter. “What is it?”

“Chicken with lemongrass.” She continued to look at me.

“Henry’s dish?”

“That’s where I got the recipe.”

I withered under her continued gaze. “All right.”

She busied herself in the preparation of the entree, and I sipped my tea. I glanced around at the five other people in the homey café but didn’t recognize anyone. I must have been thirsty from watching Cady work out, because a third of the glass was gone in two gulps. I set it back on the Formica, and Dorothy refilled it immediately. “You don’t talk about it much.”

“What?”

“The war.”

I nodded as she put the tan plastic pitcher on the counter next to me. I turned my glass in the circular imprint of its condensation. “It’s funny, but it came up earlier this afternoon.” I met her eyes under the silver hair. “Cady asked about the scar on my collarbone, the one from Tet.”

She nodded slightly. “Surely she’s seen that before?”

“Yep.”

Dorothy took a deep breath. “It’s okay, she’s doing better every day.” She reached out and squeezed my shoulder just at said scar. “But, be careful. . . .” She looked concerned.

I looked up at her. “Why?”

“Visitations like those tend to come in threes.”

I watched as she took the tea and refilled some of the other customers. I thought about Vietnam, thought about the smell, the heat, and the dead.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 35 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 35 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 26, 2013

    Walt Longmire is Human and Fascinating

    I've enjoyed the Longmire TV series, but felt something was missing. Now I've found it.

    The character created by Craig Johnson is not only real, he's every one of us who went to war, then returned home to stay at war, by going into law enforcement. This cop, tortured by his combat history and PTSD, is each of us, fighting different villains, speaking other tongues, but still trying to make it right.

    If you've been "over there" or know someone who was, this book is must-read.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 12, 2008

    Amazing Author

    This is Craig's best yet. HE just keeps getting better. He appears to be a truly gifted writer and can bring his characters alive so you feel you should know them if you run onto them somewhere. The friendship between Walt and Henry Standing Bear brings something special to the series. Well all the secondary characters are interesting and you want to hear more about them. This book has a lot of depth to it as well as some humor 'loved the paragraph of Walt carrying on a conversation with the Rattler'. Craig Johnson is one of our local authors so we in Sheridan County can feel pride for such a gifted author. Living in Sheridan, I, of course recognize so many of the locations and areas Craig talks about in his book and it makes the book more interesting when you can visualize the scenes. Several times in the book he mentions 'WE need rain' and that's a given here. You hear that phrase all summer. I know I'm looking forward to Craig's next book-maybe Longmire will find someone to share his retirement years with? :' 'not too soon because we want more books on Sheriff Longmire. I can highly reccomend 'Another Man's Moccasins' as a great read.

    2 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 25, 2008

    Excellent police procedural

    The caller informs 911 that a female body lies alongside the highway in Absaroka County, Wyoming. Sheriff Walt Longmire goes to investigate. There he finds the corpse of Vietnamese woman Ho Thi Paquet nearby sitting on the ground holding the victim¿s purse as if it is sacred is Native American Virgil White Buffalo. However Walt is stunned when he goes through Ho¿s personal possessions to find a photograph of him when he served as a military inspector in Nam with a Vietnamese barmaid circa 1968. Walt concludes that the obvious in which Virgil killed Ho is not what happened. He and his friend Native American Henry Standing Bear investigate by trying to follow Ho's recent journey, They are shocked when the paths the young woman took lead back to a West Coast slave trafficking ring and the sheriff¿s Vietnam duty. --- This is the fourth Longmire police procedural (see DEATH WITHOUT COMPANY, COLD DISH and KINDNESS GOES UNPUNISHED), but this reviewer¿s first based on this superb tale this reviewer will have to go back to read them. The whodunit is fun to follow, but the look back to Walt¿s war time makes for a superior read as the present connects to four decades ago. Sub-genre fans will appreciate this engaging, engrossing thriller that ties late 1960s Viet Nam and 2008 Wyoming effortlessly together. --- Harriet Klausner

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 20, 2014

    Excellent read.. Just couldn't put it down.

    Enjoyed this book. Stayed up too late. Just couldn't put it down.

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  • Posted June 2, 2013

    Great!

    Great!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 12, 2013

    Love this series!

    Another fun read!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted November 2, 2012

    Good series

    Started reading the books because I liked the tv show. The books are great.

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  • Posted August 10, 2012

    Fantastic read!

    In this book Longmire deals with two murders at the same time. One is happening now, and the other happened when he was a young Marine investigator in Vietnam. A fantastic read as usual.

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  • Posted July 25, 2012

    Love this series!

    This series is "can't stop reading" for me. Great dialog, character development, and characters! I appreciate that the author assumes intelligence on the part of his readers, and with the exception of Under-sheriff Vic Moretti, the language is clean. The Sheriff is a classy, virtuous guy. Thank you Craig Johnson.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 11, 2012

    Great Book

    I recommend starting this series with book #1 - the story has strong ties through all 8 books in the series, although there are short explantions for any significant references to prior books. Craig Johnson does a great job of writing about the west, with a good dose of humor while not a "profound" book, this series is well written, and a welcome relief from tediouslly worded fiction. Great story line. If you don't "love" Walt Longmire, you will LOVE Henry Standing Bear (all the women in the book seem to, too!).

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  • Anonymous

    Posted January 30, 2010

    Very Good

    Waiting for next book!

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  • Posted July 26, 2009

    more from this reviewer

    Excellent!

    This book was sooooo unexepectedly good that I returned to the bookstore with a gift card that a friend gave me and bought the rest of the series. I'm impressed. It's also great to find a new author and new series.

    0 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted June 26, 2009

    Unexpected Twists

    Leave it to Craig Johnson to come up with a completely original way to tie the current day West of Wyoming to the dark days of Vietnam. A great read as always.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 25, 2008

    This is Craig Johnson's best yet in the Walt Longmire series.

    Realistic characters and vivid scenery put the reader right into the action. The author raises social issues without preaching. He gives us the back story of two main characters we've grown to love through flashbacks to Walt's and Henry's Vietnam experiences, and he links this history to current events. Kick your shoes off, sit back, and enjoy!

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  • Anonymous

    Posted September 6, 2009

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    Posted June 27, 2014

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    Posted May 11, 2012

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    Posted May 28, 2014

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    Posted March 29, 2013

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 17, 2011

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