“Why? Do you think I’m a stoner?” He asked. She launched into a stuffy Partita 89 and played it too fast. He was also, had she known it, more than a little insincere. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. He grew more ardent, sliding her breasts out of the strapless bodice of her gown.
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