Jones got a two-bagger in the first.
It would reinforce the division of the world into, if I might generalise wickedly, the Jaguar set and yurt-dwelling yoghurt knitters.
I yelped in pain, but he gave me a sharp donkey punch on the back of my neck to shut me up and slid another bead into my ass.
At the time I entered the room, a middle-aged fine-looking woman was presenting herself to the general: as he leaned forward to embrace her, she fell at his feet, clasped his knees, and looking up, exclaimed, that she had three sons at his service, who, she hoped, would now become useful members of society, instead of being slaves as heretofore.
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