You are a garden fountain, a well of flowing water streaming down from Lebanon.“I know what else is under your tongue,” thought Alison, guffawing ...nternally whilst trying in vain to keep a straight face, as Ambrose read on:Your breasts are like clusters of fruit.I will take hold of the fruit.May your breasts be like clusters of grapes on the vine, and your mouth like the best wine.“Shit, are you fucking joking?!” muttered Alison. From within the casket could be heard the muffled sound of. She was tentative in sliding lower. I liked the direction she was taking. Promising.“Spring? Look what I found,” she said to her sister.“Be careful,” Spring said,” You know how sore it’s been.”“Sore? As in painful? I’ve been ignoring you both?”“Well, yes,” said the younger, she found her target, “Spring Meadow ... he didn’t slap me ... come down here.”Spring burrowed under the robe. A second set of fingers found...The buffalo robe suddenly heaved up and two heads appeared at the edge.“You. More

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