The Astarte of the B

The farmer, leaning on his hoe, let out a couple of snorts and spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground, tilting his head.,He still couldn't get used to this feeling.... No, perhaps it was more accurate to say that in order to preserve the echoes of his past life, he refused to allow himself to lose his sensitivity to this feeling.,Until the farmer nodded dumbly, he didn't hesitate. He crossed over Lane without a word and turned to leave.。