His shoulders were bent, his face was furrowed with wrinkles. She met the keen grey eyes of a clean-shaven man, between forty and fifty, quietly dressed in professional attire. It was a sickening process, and the sucking sound was sure to wake up Ray’s mother. “Because I know for a fact that she was having sex with Gary Rothko during homecoming Freshman year and she let him pork her up the ass. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. I am not boring you, am I?” She raised her eyes to his and smiled into his face. It might prove rewarding. The only difference between the officers of Newgate and their brethren was, that they had enormous bunches of keys at their girdles, while the latter had left their keys at home. Folding his arms, he placed his back against the door, and burst into a loud laugh. “Call me Cathy, John. ’ ‘Unfair!’ echoed his junior.
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