"Where am I?" muttered Art, opening his eyes, blinking with the effort."Just don't want you to miss the show. Our star for the day is... Mrs. Art McGuire!" mimicked the blonde haired boy, feigning a microphone in his hand, gesturing as if on stage before a crowd, not realizing that thousands of people were indeed listening.Art shook his head, wondering what had happened to him and why. How had they prevailed on Kathy to put on this obscene exhibition--and in front of him? It was the dope, he told himself... that damned marijuana. That's what was making his dear Kathy act like this. He had feared all along that she could be provoked to an outrageous sensuality, always had that streak in her, but this? It was beyond any nightmare he had ever imagined."Stop!" screamed Art, unable to watch any more of this humiliating display of disgust. "Immunity... I'll grant you immunity... anything, just don't rape my wife again!" He felt his knees buckling under him and closed his eyes. The whole. .. can't... breath! Help... can't... breath." You can't breath because you're panicking. Try to relax, Anya." Thegirl whirled, they saw that she had something to say but couldn'tspeak. She dropped to her knees as her eyes began to roll back. "Oh noyou don't." Mother rushed forward and firmly slapped the girl on thecheek, which brought her back."Please..." Her eyes rolled back again and she was gone before anyoneknew it.Ryan wiped at her brow with the sleeve of her blouse and was rewardedby a light smack on the back of her head. "Use your apron, that's whatit's for. You never know when company might stop by and you don't wantsweat stains on your blouse if they do." He looked crossly at the oldwoman, but did nothing. He was tired of passing out and every time hefought with them, that's what happened. The woman called Mother gavehim a gimlet eye. Taunting him. That woman was another thing all together. She knew he was having ahard time adjusting to the corset, and yet still worked him.
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