Using the sword to strike the right and left side of the crowd, he rolled on the grass like an iceberg. But he arrived at a time when it was packed with people, and his efforts to loosen the crowd were futile: they took the blows, roaring with pain but not relaxing. After roaring in pain, they roared with madness. The newcomer comes with a strange accent that makes it easy to tell he’s an Ethiopian, kicks his ass but can’t move forward or move a bit and will put him in the water before he gets close to you. Twenty peasants and five or six boatmen mingled in the crowd. The poor Meda tried to pinch his hands, kick his back with his feet, and grit his teeth, but every second he was dragged closer to the river’s edge.
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