Another page, another position, another man, one after another after another. In each picture her face was to the camera, varying expressions of sheer...boredom, anger, revulsion, and hatred on her face. She couldn’t stop turning the pages as her horror grew. A blonde woman on her knees, naked except for her tattered stockings, her face mashed into the groin of a faceless man standing over her, a knife in one had and her hair fisted in the other. The colors in the photo were vivid, in high. “You know what, George? We have to talk. But right now, I’m gonna go wash my face and brush my hair. Grandpa …” she almost said Stoltzfuss, but caught herself before it slipped out. “Bob, here says I look like I spent the night in a cow pasture.” “Well, I think you’re pretty any way,” George said to her back. He turned to Bob and said, “She is, you know. What brings you here? You’re the guy who was at the party last night. And how’d you find me, anyway?” “Well, like a short arm, it’s kinda. More

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