” Annabel looked down. She writhed in ecstasy as she wrapped her legs around his waist, then raised her knees to his shoulders. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. "The Captain has seldom much appetite," replied Blueskin, who, having disposed of the fowl, was commencing a vigorous attack upon the sirloin.
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