CHAPTER SEVEN
Janet Foy loved her home. They had been so lucky, she and Bob. Ten years ago, they had seen this three-acre piece, off the beaten track, and loved it. It was part of an old farm and still had an ancient carriage house among the oaks and sycamores. And ten years ago it had been cheap. A thousand dollars an acre. And building had been cheap, too, so they had been able to build an unpretentious two-story home on it for a total that matched Bob's moderate salary as a State employee, a psychological social worker.
She thought of it this morning only because she was counting her blessings. Her swollen and tender cunt lips gave her cause to rejoice every time she walked from the kitchen to the sun room.
"What a f*****g!" she murmured, grimacing with pain and joy as a surge of hea
