“Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. His vision was becoming accustomed to the faint light now and her features were clearer. Never mind. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. “In all fairness,” she thought to herself as she coaxed his mouth toward her left nipple. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat.
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