“John, I’m so hungry. You are always doing something for nothing, and that is why I love you. Trust you. “I’ve got bad faults. "Shall I never banish those horrible phantoms from my couch—the father with his bleeding breast and dripping hair!—the mother with her wringing hands and looks of vengeance and reproach!—And must another be added to their number—their son! Horror!—let me be spared this new crime! And yet the gibbet—my name tarnished—my escutcheon blotted by the hangman!—No, I cannot submit to that. She touched his erect penis and delicately curled her fingers around it, moving her hand back and forth slowly and gently. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. All make the same answer—'d—n you, keep it. Do sit down, dear boy.
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