Regardless, of her hair, in a trice she was back in the faun jumper, back to being the staid widow woman. he re-buttoning his shirt wondering if this ...ream was now shattered. Usually for Peter the postman, it was for him a welcome tea stop, in the warm kitchen, or at the very least a moment or two on the doorstep swapping gossip, with this impressive lady! Today it was a flustered doorstep greeting by a slightly flushed woman, her hair unusually a little dishevelled, blocking his entrance,. He was starting to shake a little. He knewthat whilst what was bad here was all too immutable, the good wasseldom what it seemed. And yet perhaps this move to the Centre didoffer some way of surviving, of escaping. Hope, against all theodds, was reborn. The plug in his arse started to vibrate, mocking him and his hopes.That at least he could not hope to escape at the Finishing Centre.With a rather stilted walk he went in search of Anne.He found her where he expected her to be. Thin watery. More

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