John stared palely. As for loving you, I do. Then, as he was trying to bite through the rope, I told him, ‘That’s for 107 Traci, motherfucker. "Whatever you like, Hoddy," she agreed, wiping the sweat from her forehead. He climbed on top of her, pressing her into the couch cushions, the gown billowing around them like a cotton candy parachute. His hair had begun to gray, his belly had just begun to round. Take your pick, Mrs.
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