"So you ran away."

"And Melissa was packed off to a series of convent schools that were designed to sap the juices right of her and riddle her with guilt."

"No wonder your old man was so busy telling Melissa he was sorry," Marne said, finding it more than a little ridiculous that William Davenport had waited until he was on his deathbed to attempt mending the schism.

Granted, any man, especially one brought up within the puritanical ethics of William Davenport's generation, was apt to look on what had happened as a little more than harmless child's play; but, still, the man had obviously stretched his righteous indignation to the limits.

"So, he repents at last, and dies somehow thinking all the harm he's caused has somehow been miraculously erased," Creagon said, giving another of his sardonic laughs. "He was a bastard-a stupid bastard at that-up until the very end of his life."

"And, no wonder Melissa is so upset about John's transformation," Marne said, suddenly getting the whole point Creagon had been trying to make by his little confession. "She probably doesn't enjoy sex much at all after years of doing penance for a couple harmless fucks with you, does she?"

"And if it weren't so tragic, it would almost be funny, wouldn't it? My poor sister married to a Dr. Jekyll who turns out to be Mr. Hyde."

"Somehow, I think that simile leaves a lot to be desired," Marne said, smiling.

"Anyway, enough of my sister and her marital problems with your brother, huh? It's always a bit depressing to find that there are people out there in the big wide world who don't manage quite as beautifully as you and I."

"Is that a roundabout way of telling me you've still got that hard cock you once mentioned?" Marne asked, batting her thick eyelashes coquettishly.

"Would this be a little less subtle way of telling you the same thing?" Creagon asked, taking his wife's hand and moving it down to cover the bulge Creagon's blood-engorged cock was making in the bedclothes.