They made a stratum into which Ann Veronica was now plunged up to her neck; it had become her stratum. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. Her foster father, Larry, was the hard working son-of-a-bitch type with a disdain for suits. He threw her on the bed. \" He mumbled, his eyes on her breasts. What he wanted desperately was to be alone. She found herself looking sheepishly around the bedroom when a sudden tingle of electricity moved from her groin, fanning out from her belly.
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