"The power of lust is like a storm after a sunny day." A
greedy woman, who doesn't want others to put on the Label of love and desire, but is unable to waste time in the post-war period: extremely Fanatical and irritable lovers, thinking that they can cover up the unsustainable real life with the lost wartime sky, the love words have not cooled down on the pillow, but they have become sharp knives to hurt each other in the predicament of firewood, rice, oil and salt; even if the elderly husband spends his life The tolerance and wealth of the young wife cannot recall the betrayal of the young wife.
She can't speak, because he only has wealth; she can't speak, because he only has the "love" she is proud of. Love to the extreme, is how a scumbag. No matter how attractive Rachel Weisz's carcass is, and no matter how grim Tom Hiddleston's face is, it can't make this love affair any better. Whether it's Shakespeare's sonnets, or the British love classics of setting and light. Her adventures in love are more like doing nothing but knowing that she has to worry about gains and losses, and her calmness and enthusiasm for her husband's unbreakable love is the transfer of her lover's harm. In the end, what remains is the maliciousness of each other in shame and betrayal. This story, I really can't be moved.
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