"Negra? Don't call me that," Maryuri retorts, on the day she dances, bleeds, and might risk her life and run away, or ease the world's misery in the arms of her lover, a fisherman from Cartagena.
"Negra? Don't call me that," Maryuri retorts, on the day she dances, bleeds, and might risk her life and run away, or ease the world's misery in the arms of her lover, a fisherman from Cartagena.
