F. She admired his backside as he fetched a blue towel from his bathroom. "Anything else?" "Your waistcoat. But not finding it, he had again recourse to the bludgeon, and began beating the hand fixed on the upper rail, until, by smashing the fingers, he forced it to relinquish its hold. He was a good foster dad that had never so much as leered at her, not even once.
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