She held it down with the poker, looking nervously over her shoulder. Saturday mornings at the Beck house were routine, coffee, newspaper, bagels, and Looney Toons in no particular order. The curve of his shoulders, the very angle of his feet, expressed relief at her apparent obedience. She was given a glimpse of his soul. ‘Indeed?’ Gerald grinned. They had not to tarry long. “Fuck you, Julian Rimbauer.
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