" While this order was obeyed, Figg, who had been standing near the door, made his way to the prisoner, and offered him his huge hand, which Jack warmly grasped. He stabbed a kitchen knife between her ribs. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. She looked at him as he thrust deeply, his face contorted with pleasure as he watched her riding him. Yeah, I’m thirty-seven.
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