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E. lying through their gritted teeth.) So it was that I had already begun to cast about in dread for a some sort of excuse to leave the audience even before the children trooped on stage. Maggie, as always seemed quite oblivious to the impending cacophonic workshop and sat with shining eyes as she awaited the show like a mother. She actually sternly told me to sit still, just like the old days.I raised my eyebrows at the tone of her voice and she immediately smiled her assurance that she was not slipping back to her old ways. She even reinforced the fact by brushing her fingers across the bulge of my cock under the table a sure sign that the old puritan was long gone.I blustered a bit at being forced to endure the show but did as I was told and turned my attention to the choral group lining up on the open stage in front of us.To my utter amazement, the first musical phrase actually bore a remarkable resemblance to the one the composer had written. Maggie barely suppressed a giggle as. So, he wasn't about to be put off by an officious middle-aged park ranger in a funny-looking uniform.That night Charlie was back. The cottage loomed darkly under the full moon, unlit and empty. It was unlocked.The flickering beam of the penlight showed the same well-manicured interior he had seen in the daytime. There was the open guest book. He looked. His was the last name in it. What the hell was he looking for, anyway?Secrets? Hidden trapdoors? Ha! This phony hut was just one more roadside tourist trap. A waste of time.Charlie thought he heard a voice echoing in the distance. Was someone singing?Outside. There was someone outside. In the bright moonlight, a woman was dancing. Dancing and singing.He cautiously edged out the doorway. It was a young girl, her long tresses flying above her narrow hips as she twirled, her face savagely alight with the joy of her song. A cloud obscured the moon and it was no longer a maiden dancing. She blurred and her features and form flowed into.
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