It was Celeste’s idea. You know not what a wretched guilty thing I am. "Now—begin. Perhaps this was the real turning point: the hour in which the disordered mind began permanently to readjust itself. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. But all of that was forgotten. She could feel his penis pressing against her, half-erect under the starched black tuxedo pants.
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