’ ‘He did, you know,’ grinned Gerald. The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. " Ideas are never born; they are suggested; they are planted seeds. I decided to go in and wait. He took her there on the cold, dirty floor, his nails digging into her back, his teeth sinking into her breasts. “Your affectionate “FATHER.
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