She always thought she was right and she was mean as hell. She was always pissed about my father’s affairs and when he told her to mind her own busi...ess, as he often did, she took it out on me. I hated her. When there were people around, she pretended to be nice. She would buy me things after her fits of rage. I could care less about the fancy stylish crap she used to buy me. I still hate her. I hate them both. I can’t think of a more lousy pair of human beings, except maybe my sister. My. I struggling faintly, could not help feeling what I could not grasp, a column of the whitest ivory, beautifully streak'd with blue veins, and carrying, fully uncapt, a head of the liveliest vermillion: no horn could be harder, or stiffer; yet no velvet more smooth or delicious to the touch; presently he guided my hand lower, to that part, in which nature and pleasure keep their stores in concert, so aptly fasten'd and hung on to the root of their first instrument and minister, that not. More

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