Abruptly, Gerald turned. She could not move. She was strong, not unlike a pack mule or a camel; she thought to herself and smirked. All men are bloody fucking hypocrites. “The Holy Ghost! The Pope! My mother!” She squealed. And Suzanne, even that she has behaved to me not at all like a mother, would also not have said. Your Mom says to come downstairs for dessert.
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