He was so horny that he could probably make love to a tree. But I was sorry for poor Jack—as I am still, and hoped he would mend. “I don’t know, John. See what you have made of me. ‘Certainly I am not a nun. She wedged the towel between her legs. I want to give you warning that I have set myself to solve it. "But never mind who, or what I am. Will you tell her that?" "I will," replied Thames, earnestly. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation.
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