For so far she had kept it uncashed. He seldom spoke, and drank with a persistence that was sinister. And, if you hear any odd noise in the parlour, don't mind it. “For instance?” She smiled. The stretch of red dirt disappeared into a stretch of trees like Van Gogh’s painting. His orgasm was quick, spasmodic. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden.
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