Or more precisely, what she didn’t hear. The house was silent, only the vague aroma of old coffee and stale air. ‘Mom?’ she called, dropping her...backpack on the floor and wandering into the kitchen. There was a bottle of wine on the worn countertop, like when her parents had those stupid date nights where they whisked her off to grandmas. She still felt a small sting of pain, of longing. Her grandmother had passed away almost a year ago, and even though she was a ripe old eighty-nine, they all. “Why my anal passage of course,” she admitted, “Then I shall not have to look at your odious face.”“Unless we fornicate before the mirror?” I countered.“As you see there is no mirror,” She observed, “But Madame’s own room has a mirrored ceiling so one may watch each movement of a Gentleman’s buttocks as he thrusts his filth within one.”“And how much to hire that room?” I asked.“Oh no, it is for Madame’s favoured courtesans,” she declared, “It is not for base whores such as I.”“Are you not a. More

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