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MY SECRET LIFE was her custom, to doze on the small bed; the next minute her bell rang violently. “Send up Sarah,” said she angrily to Susan, and up she went, I went into the hall listening in a funk. “Why don’t you keep my bed-room door closed ?” said she, “as I tell you.” “I am almost sure it was closed when I went out.” “Have you been in here ?” “No m’am”, stammered the poor woman, “the nasty cat has been up here on this bed (luckily the cat had done that once before), and been scratching up the skins. “You must have opened the door,—and oh! the beast has made some mess upon it.” Mother told Sarah to wipe up the place, it was only marks of what Sarah’s overﬂowing cunt and my prick had dropped in our hurry. A little more blowing up, and mothers’ anger was over. Sarah came down, looking more dead than alive, when I saw her in the hall.

In the evening Sarah went out, and I to church,— so mother thought,—but in reality to meet Sarah. For an hour we walked about, then as it grew dark began kissing. What a difference the morning had made. No resistance now, my hand roved over the smooth bum and belly, a slight objection on the part of the thighs as my hand touched the hairy covering, but for an instant only, then as of a right the ﬁngers felt the moist lapels, which were soon opened by my prick, as I fucked her up against the wall of the garden, at the very spot where some weeks previously I had fucked the unknown lady, and caught the clap.

Good and bad luck come in heaps. I was now in for the good. Next Sunday and others afterwards, we had a nice half-hour on her bed, or my bed, or on the sofa in the parlour; but we left no signs of the cat anywhere. —271—