Spurlock had sensed what had gone completely over McClintock's head—that this was the playing of a soul in damnation. I have always had a secret crush on him, to be honest with you. Looked like them statues of the Holy Mother I see about the place. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. I've taught him all he can do; and there isn't his fellow, and never will be again. As he lay on his back, he fancied himself gradually slipping off the platform.
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