The ribald demons that infested the back of Ann Veronica’s mind urged various facetious interrogations upon her, as, for example, where the witness had acquired his prose style. When he had finished he took up the wine list and ordered a bottle of dry champagne. Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. ‘At last,’ he cried, ‘I have found you!’ He would listen to nothing. She drew his penis out of the strange little vent in his boxer shorts.
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